University of California • Berkeley
PA
THE AUTHOR AS HE APPEARED AFTER THE
COEUR D'ALENE RIOTS.
A True Story of Twenty-Two Years with a
World-Famous Detective Agency
Giving the Inside Facts of the Bloody Coeur
d'Alene Labor Riots, and the many Ups
and Downs of the Author throughout
the United States, Alaska, British
Columbia and Old Mexico
Also Exciting Scenes among the Moonshiners
of Kentucky and Virginia
By CHAS. A. SIRINGO
Author of "A Texas Cowboy"
CHICAGO
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912
BY
CHAS. A. SIRINGO
OLD COLT'S 45 AND THE HAND THAT HAS
KEPT HER UNDER CONTROL.
TO MY FRIEND
ALOIS B. RENEHAN
OF SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO
An eminent lawyer, advocate and writer,
as a token of appreciation of many
kindnesses done, this book
is dedicated.
PREFACE
This story of twenty years of active service as a detect
ive, an autobiography of many thrilling adventures, on
mountain and plain, among moonshiners, cattle thieves,
tramps, dynamiters and other strong-arm men, has been
delayed for a long time in coming from the press. The
delay was due to the protests of the author's former em
ployers. These protests were undoubtedly rightful, but it
was considered in the beginning that no harm could come
therefrom, for the reason that the identity of persons in
volved was not disclosed except in reference to past
facts, matters that were done and over with. Now this
difficulty has been overcome and the objections removed
by the use of fictitious names in many places. But the
story in no wise loses its interest, and it is believed the
reader will find in the volume much with which to enter
tain himself.
The author is not a literary man, but has written as he
speaks, and it is thought that the simplicity thus resulting
will not detract from the substantial merit of the tales,
which are recitals of facts and not of fiction.
CHARLES A. SIRINGO.
Santa Fe, New Mexico, January 6, 1912.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
The Anarchist Riot in Chicago — My First Work for the
Dickenson Agency— In Jail for Slugging a Slugger 11
CHAPTER II
Archuleta County Uprising — Rope Secured to Hang Me —
Running Down a Wells-Fargo Robber in Old Mexico—
We Capture the Noted Bassick Mine 25
CHAPTER III
To White River as an Outlaw — The Ute Indian War — Riding
and Roping Under Name of "Dull Knife" at Denver
Cowboy Tournament — Off for Wyoming as an Outlaw.. 44
CHAPTER IV
In Jail With Denver & Rio Grande Hold-Ups — Aspen Ore-
Stealing Case — Testing Railroad Conductors — The Mud
sill Mine-Salting Case — In Longmont as a Bronco-
Buster— In the Bull-Pen with Hobos 66
CHAPTER V
Two Wealthy Mine-Owners of Tuscarora, Nevada, Blown
up with Dynamite — A Confession Secured After Nine
Months of Strenuous Life in Nevada and Indian Terri
tory 91
CHAPTER VI
Shooting of Ancheta — I Join the "White Caps" of New
Mexico — Taken Down with Smallpox and Given up to
Die 114
CHAPTER VII
The Bloody Coeur D'Alene Strike — I Become Recording
Secretary of the Union — During the Riot I Sawed a
Hole in the Floor to Escape From Blood-Thirsty Dyna
miters ... 135
8 CONTENTS
CHAPTER VIII PAGE
United States Troops Fill the "Bull-Pen" with Miners'
Union Dynamiters — My Evidence Convicts Eighteen of
the Union Leaders 172
CHAPTER IX
In Jail with Two Murderers — Testing Railway Conductors —
Tramping as a Hobo Through Colorado, New Mexico,
Arizona, California and Texas — Robbery of the Tread-
well Gold Mill in Alaska — We Capture the Thieves and
Recover the Gold 192
CHAPTER X
Chasing Leon Carrier Through the Republic of Mexico —
Running Down "Bad" Men in Arizona — Big Ore Robbery
on Bull Hill — Golden Fleece Ore-Stealing Case — Hobo
Operation — Big Mining Suit in Arizona — Running Down
Banker's Son in British Columbia 229
CHAPTER XI
Bill Blank Cattle-Stealing Case — Christmas Dinner and a
Dance on the L X Cattle Ranch in Texas — Left Afoot
on a New Mexico Desert Without Water 247
CHAPTER XII
Jersey Lilie and Butterfly Mine-Salting Cases — Tramping on
the Oregon Short Line Railway Company's System — A
Big Ore- Stealing Case in Salt Lake City, Utah — Trip to
British Columbia — Playing Outlaw in Cripple Creek,
Colorado 268
CHAPTER XIII
A Lawsuit in Bent County, Colorado — A Big Murder Case
in Benkelman, Nebraska — Ernest Bush Sent to the Peni
tentiary for Life 288
CHAPTER XIV
On Trail of Union Pacific Train Robbers Through Utah,
Colorado, New Mexico, Kansas, Indian Territory,
Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi, Montana and the Re
public of Mexico 305
CONTENTS 9
CHAPTER XV PAGE
A 1,000-Mile Horseback Ride from Grand Junction, Colo.,
to Alma, New Mexico — In with "Kid" Curry's "Wild
Bunch" Crowd, in Colorado, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico
and Wyoming 339
CHAPTER XVI
A Big Railroad Stealing Case in Texas and Old Mexico— A
Bullion Stealing Operation in Salt Lake, Utah 381
CHAPTER XVII
A Mining Case in Alma, Colorado— A Prospecting Trip with
a Half-Breed Mexican — Taking Prisoner to Kansas City,
Missouri — Working on United States Senator Smoot... 387
CHAPTER XVIII
The Wentz Kidnapping Case — Eight Months Among the
Moonshiners of Kentucky and Virginia 395
CHAPTER XIX
A Hurrah Life Among the "Moonshiners" — I Escape Pos
sible Death by a Scratch — The Body of Ed. Wentz
Found 418
CHAPTER XX
A Mining Case in Kelly, N. M. — Big Robbery in Prescott,
A. T. — Incendiary Case in Wyoming — Mrs. Shaw Kid
napping Case in Pueblo, Colo. — Chase After "Bad" Man
in Sonora, Mexico- — Cattle Case in Wyoming and Mon
tana — "Frenzied Finance" Operation in Roswell, N. M.. 454
CHAPTER XXI
A Cowboy Operation in Eastern Oregon — A Trip to Som-
brerete, Old Mexico — A Visit to the Coeur D'Alenes with
James McParland — Laying for Train Holdups in Ne
braska — An Operation in Mexico City 486
CHAPTER XXII
In Idaho with Dynamiters — A Cowboy Operation in the Bad
Lands of South Dakota — I Resign from the Dickenson
Agency 511
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACE
Old Colt's 45 and the Hand that Has Kept Her Under
Control 3
The Author as He Appeared After the Coeur D'Alene Riots. . 2
The Kidlet Author After He Became a Cowboy 11
Henry Brown — Ben Wheeler 14
Mamie and Viola 80
Pablo H. Standing— His Two Brothers Sitting 118
Tim Corn 234
Bigfoot Wallace 262
The Author and W. O. Sayles 310
Little Harvey T. and His Dog 330
Author and Two Horses 349
"Kid" Curry and His Sweetheart 370
"Doc" Lockredge and the Author 387
Emma S., "Donk" and the Author 407
Victoria Craft 413
The Author as He Appeared When He Whittled the Chair. . 428
Eat 'Em Up Jake 464
Wallace, Idaho. The X Marks the Spot Where the Author
Stood When the Soldiers Arrived 501
Orchard and Guards — Reading from Left to Right: (1) Pen
Guard Ackley. (2) Harry Orchard. (3) R. Barthell.
(4) Chas. A. Siringo. (5) Bob Meldrum. (6) Warden
Whitney 511
McCartney and the Author 514
10
THE KIDLET AUTHOR AFTER HE BE
CAME A COWBOY.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
CHAPTER I
THE ANARCHIST RIOT IN CHICAGO — MY FIRST WORK
FOR THE DlCKENSON AGENCY IN JAIL FOR
SLUGGING A SLUGGER.
The writer was born in Matagorda county, Texas, in
the extreme southern part of the State, in 1855, and was
reared on the upper deck of all kinds and conditions of
cow-ponies scattered throughout the Lone Star State,
Kansas, Indian Territory and New Mexico. I spent fifteen
years continuously in the saddle, seldom ever sleeping in
a house or a tent. In these early days of the cattle busi
ness when the southern half of Texas was overrun with
wild, long-horned cattle, the cowboys used the ground
for a bed and the sky for covering.
I first started out as a full-fledged cowboy in 1867 when
only eleven years of age. Of course, I naturally became
an expert at riding "bad" horses and roping wild cat
tle. Besides, this strenuous, open-air life gave me health
and a longing to see the world and to learn the ins and
outs of human nature.
The chance came when the spring of 1886 found me in
Chicago with a pretty young wife and a sweet little girl
baby on my hands. We were boarding and rooming
11
12 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
with a private family on Harrison avenue on the night of
the Haymarket riot, when an anarchist's bomb killed and
maimed over sixty of the city's police officers. We went
to bed expecting a riot before morning, so we were not
surprised when we heard the explosion of the bomb, and,
soon after, the shooting which followed. A young lawyer,
Reynolds by name, ran to our room to tell me to get
ready and go with him to the riot, but my frightened
girl-wife held on to me and wouldn't let me go, though I
sent a representative in the shape of my silver-plated,
pearl-handled "Colt's 45" pistol, which had been my com
panion on the cattle range and which still keeps me com
pany as I write. Reynolds had borrowed my pistol and
as he ran around a corner at the Haymarket with the
"gun" in his hands, policemen opened fire on him, think
ing that he was an anarchist. He dodged into a door,
went up a flight of stairs and out an alley gate and flew
for home like a scared wolf. With face as white as snow
he handed me the pistol while I still lay in bed, saying
that he had enough of the riot business, as several bullets
had whizzed close to his head.
After the riot the city was all excitement, and I com
menced to wish that I were a detective so as to help
ferret out the thrower of the bomb and his backers. I
knew very little about the detective business, though I
had spent part of 1881 and 1882 doing secret work for
Texas cattlemen against cattle thieves in western Texas
and New Mexico. This had given me a taste for the
work, and I liked it. Besides, I had been told by a blind
phrenologist that I was "cut out" for a detective. At
that time I didn't believe in phrenology, but this man
13
being as blind as a bat and telling so many truths about
people I knew, convinced me that there was something
besides wind and graft in phrenology. Had this man
not been blind, I would have attributed his knowledge
to his ability to read faces.
It was in the year 1884. I lived in Caldwell, Kansas, a
cattle town on the border of Kansas and the Indian Ter
ritory. Circulars were scattered broadcast over the town
announcing the coming of this noted phrenologist. After
supper, on the evening of his arrival, many leading citi
zens turned out to hear him lecture at the Leland Hotel.
He stood in the center of a large parlor, holding to the
back of an empty chair. He was a fine looking old man,
regardless of the fact that both eyes were out. After
making a few preliminary remarks on phrenology, he
called for some one to come forward and have his head
examined. The audience began calling for our popular
city marshal, Henry Brown, who had only been marshal
a short time, but who had won glory and a new gold
star by killing several men, including an Indian chief,
"Spotted Horse," who had taken on more "fire-water"
than he could carry. Brown hesitated quite awhile about
having his head "felt." He knew better than any one
else in the audience as to what was in his head and he
didn't want to risk having his faults told. He finally
went out and sat down in the chair. But it was soon
made plain by the color of his face that he regretted
going. He stuck it out though, and heard some very
uncomplimentary remarks said against himself. I knew
that the phrenologist was telling the truth, because I had
known Henry Brown when he was a member of the
14 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
notorious "Billy the Kid's" outlaw gang in the Pan
handle of Texas, and the Territory of New Mexico. I
first became acquainted with him through introduction
by "Billy the Kid" in the fall of 1878. I had just re
turned to the Panhandle from Chicago, where I had been
with a shipment of fat steers, and had found "Billy the
Kid" and his gang camped at the L X ranch where I
was employed as one of the cowboy foremen. I pre
sented "Billy the Kid" with a fine meerschaum cigar
holder, which I had bought in Chicago, and he in turn
presented me with a book containing his autograph. He
also introduced me to several of his men, one of them
being Henry Brown. During that winter Brown and
a half-breed Indian quit "the Kid's" outlaw gang and
went to the Indian Teritory, and I lost track of him until
I met him wearing an officer's star in Caldwell, Kansas.
He begged me to not give him away as he intended to
reform and lead an honorable life. But I regretted after
wards that I didn't tell the citizens of Caldwell of his past
record. For, while acting as city marshal of Caldwell,
and while wearing his star, he rode into Medicine Lodge,
a nearby town, with his chief deputy, Ben Wheeler, and
two cowboys, and in broad daylight held up the Medicine
Lodge Bank and killed the bank president, Wiley Pain,
and his cashier. After a lively chase by the citizens of
Medicine Lodge the four robbers were caught and jailed.
That night when the mob opened the jail door to hang
them, Brown and Wheeler made a break for liberty,
knocking men down as they ran. Brown was killed with
a charge of buckshot and Wheeler and the two cowboys
were hung to a nearby tree.
BEN WHEELER.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 15
After the blind phrenologist had finished Brown's head,
he called for another subject. This time the crowd began
calling for Mr. Theodore Baufman, the Oklahoma scout.
"Bauf" needed very little coaxing. He strutted out,
carrying his two hundred and fifty pounds of flesh with
the air of a king. The phrenologist ran his hand over
"Bauf's" head just once, and then said: "Ladies and
gentlemen, here is a man who, if the Indians were on the
warpath and he should run across one lone Indian on the
plains, he would tell his friends that he had seen a thou
sand warriors." This caused such yelling and laughter
that Baufman was angry for weeks; but I, for one,
knew that the phrenologist had told the truth, as I had
worked with "Bauf" on the range as early as 1878 and
therefore knew that his worst failings were a fear of hard
work and the stretching of the truth.
Next the audience began calling for "Mamie," my
sixteen-year-old wife. She took the seat and the blind
man ran his hand over her head once. He then said:
"Here is a good-natured little somebody who cannot tell
a lie or do a wrong." The balance he told was what we
all knew to be true.
Next the crowd called for me. I went forward and sat
down in the chair. The blind man laid his hand on the
top of my head and then said: "Ladies and gentlemen,
here is a mule's head." When the laughter had subsided
he explained that I had a large stubborn bump, hence
was as stubborn as a mule. He then said I had a fine
head for a newspaper editor, a fine stock raiser, or detec
tive; that in any of these callings I would make a suc
cess. So, during the excitement following the anarchist
16 A COWBOY DETECTIVE.
riot in Chicago, this old man's words began to bear fruit
and I concluded to try my hand as a detective.
But the question arose as to the best way to start in the
business, my main object being to see the world and learn
human nature. I wisely concluded to start right by
entering the greatest detective school on earth — the
Dickenson National Detective Agency. My steps were
light and my hopes buoyant when on the 29th day of
June, 1886, I stepped into S. A. Kean & Co.'s Bank and
asked the cashier, Mr. Yure, for a letter of introduction
to Mr. Wm. L. Dickenson. I was slightly acquainted with
this cashier, as I had done business with his bank. He
replied that he would speak to Mr. Kean. He soon re
turned and wrote me the letter. It read as follows :
"CHICAGO, ILL., June 29th, 1886.
Dickenson Detective Agency,
City.
Gentlemen : — The bearer, Mr. Chas. A. Siringo, we know to
be a person of good character, and having been a cowboy and
brought up on the plains, his services and ability are commend
able to you. S. A. KEAN & Co., Bankers."
Armed with this letter of introduction I bolted into the
Dickenson Agency. I found the air in the main office
impregnated with mystery and suspicion. A dozen pairs
of eyes were focused on me as though I were an an
archist with a bomb up my sleeve. I asked to see Mr.
"Billy" Dickenson. I had often heard him called "Billy,"
and my lack of business knowledge prevented me from
using his proper name. The attendant informed me that
he couldn't be seen, but that any word or letter which I
might have could be conveyed to him. I then wrote a
note addressed to Mr. "Billy" Dickenson, stating my busi-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 17
ness, and enclosed it with the banker's letter of introduc
tion. The young man disappeared with these letters. In
about twenty minutes he returned with the S. A. Kean
letter, on the bottom of which was written in Mr. Dicken-
son's own handwriting :
"Capt. Farley: — The party referred to in this letter is undoubt
edly a good man. — Wm. L. Dickenson."
I was told to go down stairs and present the Kean &
Co. letter to Capt. Farley. I did so. He read it, then
handed it back to me, and I still retain it as a relic of
bygone days.
After being put through a test by Capt. Mike Farley,
I was allowed to see the "big chief," Wm. L. Dickenson.
He asked for references and I gave him the names of
David T. Beals, president of the Union National Bank of
Kansas City, Mo. ; Jas. H. East, a popular Texas sheriff,
and Pat Garrett, the slayer of "Billy the Kid." In 1880
I had assisted Garrett in running down that noted out
law and his murderous gang; hence I felt safe in giving
this noted "bad" man-killer as reference.
Mr. Dickenson said he would write to these men at
once, and if their replies were favorable, he would give
me a position in a new office which they were opening
in Denver, Colo. He said they would need a cowboy de
tective there, as they figured on getting a lot of cattle
work. I had told Mr. Dickenson that the east was too
tame for me, hence I wanted a position in the west.
After the interview I went home to wait a week or
two for replies from my references, and while waiting, I
broke into jail for the first time in my life.
It was Saturday evening after dark. The mix-up took
2
18 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
place at Barnum's circus near the ticket wagon, when
the great crowd was scrambling to buy tickets to the
circus. A large man, who would have made two of me,
tried to be fresh and I called him down. He made a pass
to put me to sleep the first punch but before he could
get in his work the weight of my old Colt's 45 pistol
had landed on his head. This was followed up with
one more lick which buried the sharp pistol-sight into
his skull. This brought the blood in a stream. By this
time his partner had picked up a piece of board and had
it raised to strike me from the rear. I saw him just in
time. He found a cocked pistol in his face, and dropping
the board2 begged for mercy. Both of these men had
wives with them and they were crying and screaming.
No doubt they thought their "hubbies" had innocently
stirred up a hornet's nest. A policeman came running up,
but he was so excited that he forgot to take my pistol,
so I put it back into my pocket. This good-looking
young policeman informed me that I was under arrest.
I told him that I wouldn't be arrested unless he also
arrested the other two men. He then told them to con
sider themselves under arrest. The wounded man, whose
face and neck and white shirt front were red with blood,
begged not to be put in a patrol wagon. Therefore, as
it was only a few blocks to the Harrison street police
station, the officer consented to let us walk. The other
two prisoners and their nicely dressed wives took the lead,
while the officer and I brought up the rear. We had only
gone a block when the wounded man balked. He
wouldn't budge until I surrendered my arsenal to the
policeman. He had suddenly remembered that I still
had the pistol.
A CO W BOY DETECTIVE 19
On reaching the Harrison street station we stepped
up to a desk behind which sat a very old, fat man. My
pistol was laid on his desk and the policeman told him I
had used it on the red man. The old fellow eyed me,
then the pistol, then the man covered with blood and his
nice broadcloth suit ruined. He asked me if I had use'd
this pistol on the man. I replied "Yes." Then he said,
"I'll fix you, young man. I'll make the charge assault
with intent to murder." He then began writing it down
in his book. The tiger blood in me began to boil. I
finally turned myself loose and called the old bald-headed
"judge" some hard names. The policeman tried to stop
me but failed. Then he leaned over the desk and whis
pered something to the "judge" who changed the charge
to "assault with a deadly weapon." This satisfied me and
I sat down.
Then the "judge" told the officer to call the patrol
wagon and have me taken to jail. While awaiting the
patrol wagon, I secured the consent of the kind-hearted
policeman to deliver a message for me. I told him to go
to Umbdenstock's Lithographing and Printing office and
tell them I was in jail. I was well known there and
hoped that some one would be in the office, as it was
Saturday night. Shortly after, I had a nice free buggy
ride in the "hurry up" wagon and was put behind steel
bars. For an hour I paced up and down before the
heavy bars like a caged lion. It seemed as though I was
doomed to remain in jail until Monday morning without
my wife knowing of it. That worried me the worst.
About 9 o'clock Mr. Mike Shea, a wood engraver,
came to the jail and heard my tale of woe. He ex-
20 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
plained that he was the only person left in the Umbden-
stock office when the policeman arrived with my message.
Shea told me to rest easy and he would have me out
soon. He then left to see the judge who ruled over that
district. Soon after, Mr. Shea and a lithographer friend
of mine drove up in a buggy. They said they would
have to drive sixteen miles to the judge's residence out
on the edge of the city. The lithographer, whose name I
have forgot, was a leading Elk and a particular friend of
the judge of the Harrison street police station, so for this
reason Mr. Shea was taking him along to "work" the
judge, whose name I cannot recall. At 2 o'clock Sunday
morning my good friends returned with the bond signed
by the judge and I was liberated. It was 4 A. M. when I
reached home.
Monday morning I was in the court room which was
crowded with people. I had no lawyer or witnesses, but
was trusting to luck, though the attorney who had used
my pistol at the Haymarket riot was present, ready to
offer assistance. When my case was called the two men
and their wives were put on the stand and they all swore
lies against me. I was then called up and told my story.
When I had finished the judge asked me if I had any wit
nesses. I replied "No." Here a nicely dressed old
Scotchman rose up in the crowd and said: "Your
Honor, I am a witness for that young man." This was
a great surprise to me and showed that luck was on my
side. The old gentleman was put on the stand and cor
roborated my statement. He said he was taking a ship
ment of draft horses back to his home in Scotland ; that
he was trying to get up to the circus wagon to buy a
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 21
ticket to the show, when the fracas began, and thinking
that I might need help, he had come up to the court
room this morning. I thanked the old fellow later at
his hotel, but I regret that his name has slipped my
memory.
As soon as the Scotchman left the stand the judge
dismissed the case. With a smile he said to me: "Here,
young man, take your pistol and go home." Thanking
him, I started out with the pistol and cartridges in my
hand. I looked at the prosecuting witnesses with a
happy smile. They looked daggers at me in return. I
afterwards learned that these people owned a restaurant
on South Clark street, and that the sore-headed one had
a reputation as a slugger and prize fighter.
If Mr. Dickenson ever learned of my breaking into jail
while waiting to be put onto the secret force of his
agency, he kept it to himself. The secret might have
prevented my securing the position, and again, it might
have helped me, as I have since found out that the agency
officials admire a fighter when it is known that he is in
the right, though, of course, they want their men to use
their brains to control their trigger finger.
My first work was on the great anarchist Haymarket
riot case, and I remained on it to the end of the trial,
when the ringleaders were convicted.
Parsons, Engel, Fischer and Spies were hung. Ling
blew his head off in jail with a bomb, and Schwab, Field
ing and Neebe were sent to the penitentiary for a long
term of years.
I heard most of the evidence, but I couldn't see the
justice of sending Neebe to the pen. All that he did was
22 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
to set the type in the "revenge" circular which was cir
culated, calling a mass meeting on Haymarket Square to
revenge the killing of strikers in a late riot in the Mc-
Cormick factory. The evidence was in Neebe's favor,
except that he was running with a bad erowd, and did
his loafing where the beer schooners were the largest.
They were all tried in a bunch for the killing of Degan,
one of the policemen killed outright by the bomb which
was thrown from an alley by an anarchist, supposed to be
Shnoebelt. A witness or two swore that they recognized
Shnoebelt when his companion lit the match to light the
fuse ; that then Shnoebelt threw the bomb into the squad
of policemen, whose commander, Bonfield, had just
ordered the mob to disperse. Albert Parsons was stand
ing in a wagon making a speech at the time. The next
day Shnoebelt was arrested for the throwing of the bomb,
though a couple of days later it was claimed that he was
liberated for want of evidence to hold him. Still later,
they claimed to have positive evidence of his guilt, but
too late, as he had skipped for Germany. My own opinion
is that Shnoebelt was murdered in jail by angry police
men, and his body put out of the way. At least, I re
ceived hints to that effect from men who were on the
inside.
A million dollars had been subscribed by the Citizens'
League to stamp out anarchy in Chicago, and no doubt
much of it was used to corrupt justice. Still, the hang
ing of these anarchists had a good effect and was worth
a million dollars to society. Now, if the law-abiding
people of the whole United States would contribute one
hundred times one million dollars to stamp out anarchy
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 23
and dynamiting, the coming generation would be saved
much suffering and bloodshed, for we are surely playing
with fire when we receive with open arms anarchists from
foreign countries and pat them on the back for blowing
up Russian and English Royalty. These chickens will
come home to roost in our back yard some day.
I had talked with Policeman Degan, a fine officer, be
fore his death, as his beat was near where we lived, and
knowing the man, I couldn't much blame his brother of
ficers for losing their heads and wanting to wreak ven
geance on all who upheld anarchy.
After the anarchist case was finished, I did all kinds
of small jobs, such as "shadowing" bank clerks and of
ficials, down to looking up a lost jewel or child. During
this time I had to study the rules and regulations of the
Dickenson Agency, which were in book form.
The next important case that I was put on was against
the Irish National League, for the English government.
About half a dozen of us "sleuths" were put on the case
under the direct supervision of assistant superintendent
John O'Flyn. This being such an important operation,
Supt. Jamieson, a kind-hearted old man, called us all into
his office and explained the importance of doing our best
and not getting together when working around the Irish
League headquarters.
I was on this case over a month, and learned many new
lessons. Operative Jakey Teufel and I went to Cincin
nati, Ohio, with two Irish would-be destroyers of the
English crown.
During the next couple of months I had many opera
tions in the city of Chicago. They were of every class,
24 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
some lasting for weeks, and others only for a few min
utes or hours. A good share of the time was spent in the
slums, or what should be called "Hell's Half Acre."
Here I learned some valuable lessons in human nature
and saw many eye-openers.
I had one operation which was a picnic. It was easy,
"all same" getting money from your wife's relatives.
I was put to work "shadowing" a long-legged, red
headed banker. He had to be in the bank most of the
day, but at night he showed me a touch of high life. He
would go into tough places and drink wine with the in
mates. I had to do likewise so as to find out how much
money his Royal Nibs was blowing in. This was my
first experience in having a "good time" at some one
else's expense.
We were glad when fall came and Mr. W. L. Dicken-
son called me into his private office to tell me to get ready
and move to Denver, Colo., there to join the force of
their new office which was opened for business a few
months previous.
Our friends in Chicago were bidden farewell, and
Mamie and little Viola were put into a Pullman sleeper
and we turned our faces back toward the setting sun.
My work was of all kinds during this first winter in
Denver. I had quite a lot of investigating to do, as well
as helping to run down city crooks and law breakers in
general. I helped break up a gang of crooked street car
conductors who had duplicate punches to ring in on the
company and thereby make from ten to twenty dollars
a day each for himself. Horses were the motive power
then.
CHAPTER II
ARCHULETA COUNTY UPRISING — ROPE SECURED TO HANG
ME — RUNNING DOWN A WELLS-FARGO ROBBER IN
OLD MEXICO — WE CAPTURE THE NOTED BASSICK
MINE.
Early in the spring of 1887 I was sent out on my first
cowboy operation.
In the southwestern part of Colorado on the border of
New Mexico, was situated the County of Archuleta, the
county seat being Pagosa Springs, and the nearest rail
road being Amargo, New Mexico.
What the Denver newspapers called anarchy, and a
great uprising, had broken loose in this county which
contained only about seventy-five voters. The residents
of Archuleta county were mostly "Americans," but the
Archuleta brothers of Amargo, New Mexico, ruled polit
ically by flooding the county on election day with their
New Mexican sheep herders who voted.
Finally the citizens rebelled and drove all the county
officials with the exception of the sheriff and county clerk,
who joined the insurgents, out of the country. They
even burnt up some of their property and threatened
death if they ever returned.
In order to retain their office by law, the five deported
county commissioners, "Press" and "Don" Archuleta,
Bendito Martinez, Mr. Scase and J. M. Archuleta, had to
hold a county commissioners' meeting within sixty days ;
25
36 'A COWBOY DETECTIVE
hence my being sent on ahead as a Texas outlaw, so as
to be one of the revolutionists should a battle take place.
In Durango, Colorado, I bought a horse and saddle
and rode sixty miles to Pagosa Springs. Enroute I
stopped at the G. cattle ranch and made myself solid with
Gordon G., who was one of the ringleaders of the up
rising and known as a "bad" man from Texas.
While at the G. ranch I confided in Gordon by telling
him of how I had killed three Mexicans in Texas and
had to skip. He also told me of trouble he had in Texas.
On reaching Pagosa Springs, I headed straight for the
residence of E. M. Taylor, the County clerk, who was the
brains and the leader of the revolutionists.
I had made up my mind to establish myself at the
Taylor residence if nerve and gall could accomplish the
feat.
Riding up to the porch I tied my horse and knocked
on the front door. Mrs. Taylor appeared and informed
me that her husband had gone to his sheep ranch, and
would not be back till dark. I asked if I couldn't wait
there until his return. She asked why I wished to see
him. Told her that I wanted to live with them awhile.
Here the little lady climbed upon her dignity and in
formed me that they did not keep boarders; that there
were two hotels in town. She then slammed the door in
my face.
Recalling that old saying : "Faint heart ne'er won fair
lady," I determined to try it. So unsaddling my pony
and placing the saddle on the porch, I took the horse to
the stable and gave him a good feed of grain and hay.
Then returning to the porch, I lay down on the saddle.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 27
It was a damp, cold day, and through the window I
could see Mrs. Taylor and her only child, a ten-year-old
daughter, sitting by the blazing fire in the hearth.
Through the window they could also see me.
About dusk Mr. Taylor rode up on his horse and
wanted to know what was up. I told him my tale of woe
— that I had got into trouble in Texas and was hiding
out — hence did not want to stop at a hotel. Also that I
was a friend of Gordon G.'s. He replied that if I was a
friend of Gordon's I could stop with them, providing he
could get his wife's consent. He was absent in the house
long enough to get the consent of ten men.
Mrs. Taylor was a splendid cook, and the warm supper
hit the soft spot in my heart. And the nice clean bed in
a cozy front room put me at peace with all the world.
Shortly after I had established myself in the home of
Mr. Taylor, the county commissioners, with the county
judge, J. Archuleta, and the county attorney, Jas. L.
Russell, returned from New Mexico under an escort of
sixty mounted and well armed Mexicans.
We revolutionists, about seventy-five strong, met them
at the bridge spanning the San Juan river, and pre
vented them from entering the town. Communications
were carried on through flags of truce.
Our side were mostly wild and woolly cowboys and
ranchmen, and we had plenty of liquor to keep up our
fighting spirit.
The county officials were camped in an old house on
the opposite side of the swift flowing San Juan river,
while their armed escort were housed in the vacated gov
ernment barracks, a quarter of a mile distant from the
river.
28 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
A plot was laid to assassinate the seven officials at
3 A. M. Two men were to cross the river above town
and slip along under the bank to a haystack which ad
joined the house in which the officials slept. The hay
stack was to be set on fire. This would burn the house.
Men secreted behind rocks on our side of the river were
to shoot down the gentlemen as they ran out of the burn
ing building.
About II p. M. I waded the river half a mile above
town and made a swift run to notify the armed guards
doing duty at the old government barracks.
Jose Martinez, brother to Bendito Martinez, promised
that he would give me ample time to get back to the
saloon where our mob was congregated, before notifying
the officials. But this he failed to do; the result being
that our guards on the bridge saw the officials running
with their valises over to the camp of their fighting men.
Then the drunken mob began counting noses to see who
of their party were absent to have warned the enemy.
Of course, I was missed. Hence when I returned there
was something "doing," and they were determined to
hang me. But my friends, Taylor, Dyke and Gordon,
believed my protests of innocence and my life was spared.
They decided to set a trap for me the next night. They
concluded that if I were the guilty party I must have
communicated the secret to Mrs. Scase, and she sent the
news to her husband by one of her small boys. It puzzled
them to know how I could have waded the swift river,
which was waist deep, without wetting my clothes. They
had felt to see if they were wet. They did not know that
I disrobed while crossing the river.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 29
County Commissioner Scase had a Mexican wife, and
when the mob burnt up their residence and livery stable
and escorted Mr. Scase over the line into New Mexico,
they allowed Mrs. Scase and her children to occupy an
old shack on the bank of the San Juan river. So at this
shack the trap was set to catch me. They felt sure that
if I were a detective I would communicate with Mrs.
Scase. Therefore, they had two men detailed to watch
this shack. They secreted themselves in a large wood pile
near the front door. These men took turns about guard
ing.
We had a dance that night. All attended but the men
on duty guarding the bridge and the Scase shack.
About ii p. M. I walked in a round-about-way to the
Scase residence to deposit some short hand notes in the
back of an old oil painting which hung on the wall, and
which had escaped the fire. I passed within a few yards
of the wood pile where the armed guard was doing duty.
Securing the door key under a board — where Mrs.
Scase had promised to leave it — I entered the front room
and deposited the notes. Then I sat on the edge of the
bed talking to Mrs. Scase a moment. The children were
sound asleep.
In taking my departure I slipped a board out of place
along the wall, facing the river, and made a jump of
about twelve feet onto the rocky edge of the river. Mrs.
Scase replaced the board.
As soon as I entered the door the young man in the
wood pile ran to the dance hall to tell the half drunken
mob that the suspect was caught in the trap. All grabbed
their rifles or shotguns and raided the Scase shack. I
30 A COWBOY DETECTIVE,
was told that Mrs. Scase stood pat and insisted that I
had not been there.
When I entered the dance hall the ladies and children
turned their gaze onto me. There were no men in the
place but the two fiddlers. A runner was sent to inform
the mob that I was in the hall.
In' a few moments the hall was a surging mass of
armed men. Gordon G. touched me on the shoulder, saying :
"Anderson, I want to speak to you." He led the way
into a side room where there was a carpenter's work
bench, and pointing to this bench, he asked me to sit
down as he wished to ask me some questions. Around
my waist were old Colt's 45 and a pearl-handled bowie
knife. My first impulse was to draw the pistol and fight
my way out, but on second thought I concluded that
would be showing bad detective ability.
I sat down on the bench facing Gordon, who stood six
feet in his stockings, and was otherwise every inch a man.
Placing both hands on my knees and looking me square
in the face, he said : "Now, Anderson, I want you to tell
me the truth. If you do I can save you, otherwise you
are going to be killed. Now, remember, don't lie to me.
I want the truth. Are you a detective?" I answered,
"no." He then continued : "Well, what were you doing
in Mrs. Scase's house tonight?" I replied that I did not
know Mrs. Scase, nor had I ever been in her house. Said
he: "Well, one of our men swears he saw you go in
there."
At this I jumped off the bench and with my hand on
old Colt's 45, demanded that he show me the dirty whelp
that would tell such a lie on me. And that if he said it
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 31
to my face, one of us would have to die. I said this in
a loud angry tone so that the mob in the hall could
hear me.
Gordon said : "I believe, Anderson, you are telling the
truth. But keep cool, and I'll put you face to face with
the man."
We then walked into the hall and Gordon called the
young man. As he stepped up I asked if he had lied
about me. The result was the poor fellow weakened and
said he could have been mistaken, but the man who en
tered Mrs. Scase's looked like me, but it being dark, he
might have been mistaken.
That settled it for the night, but next day the mob be
came drunk and unruly and were determined to hang me
as a spy. It would require too much space to give the
details. The result was that through hard lying I saved
my neck and was promoted. Sheriff Dyke made me one
of his special deputies at $4.00 a day, as long as I could
remain. This money came in handy and it was all
"velvet," that is, belonged to me individually.
Two days later, after being appointed deputy sheriff,
I saved the lives of the county commissioners, the
county judge and Attorney Russell, who, by the way,
has since served as district judge of that district, and at
the present writing, so I am told, is still an honored citi
zen of that county.
A plot had been planned for both sides to stack all
the fire arms and leave two men from each side to guard
them. Then a meeting of the commissioners could sit in
the court house. The scheme was to have some rifles
cached and make a raid on the fire arms and their guards.
Then the slaughter was to begin.
32
All the county officials with the exception of Bendito
Martinez had agreed to the plan. All were trying to get
Martinez's consent. He finally caught my eye and I
shook my head — as much as to say don't do it. That
settled it. He stood pat and the plot fell through.
I have heard it said that a Mexican can't take a hint,
but Martinez caught a hint in a very light shake of my
head. Poor fellow, he soon afterwards shot a man dead
in the Durango court room, which broke him up finan
cially, though I hear he is getting on his feet again.
After holding the county officials and their armed
escort at bay for about four days, peace was declared by
the leaders of the revolutionists being promised an even
division of the political pie in future. Then the commis
sioners held their meeting and all departed for New
Mexico.
The blood of the insurgents had cooled off as the
liquors in Bowland's saloon diminished, hence peace was
declared under a flag of truce — a woman's white apron.
For the next six weeks I had nothing to do but play
outlaw and eat Mrs. Taylor's good cooking. Whenever
suspicious strangers appeared in town Sheriff Dyke
would have me keep hid out until he could learn their
business, for fear they might be Texas officers on my
trail.
Often I would be the sole occupant of the Taylor resi
dence and at such times I would read Mr. Taylor's
private political letters. His old love letters would be
laid to one side. I had secured a key that fitted his
private desk.
There were piles of political letters and receipts for
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 33
votes bought during past elections. The ruling price of
votes was two dollars in cash or one sheep. Most of the
interesting political letters were from Billy Adams,
brother of the twice governor of Colorado, Alva Adams.
From these letters I learned many new lessons in up-to-
date western politics.
I appeared before the grand jury in the adjoining
county of La Plata, at Durango, the judge of the court
being Chas. D. Hayt, and the prosecuting attorney, G. T.
Summer, with the result that sixteen of the leaders in the
uprising were indicted.
I then disposed of my horse and saddle and "sneaked"
to an eastbound train for Denver.
I had been on the operation about two months and
during that time I dared not write reports or letters to my
wife, nor receive mail from Denver, as the postoffice at
Pagosa Springs was in the hands of the insurgents. I
had used the name of Chas. Anderson on this operation.
Arriving in Denver, I was hurried away to the Re
public of Mexico to run down an A., T. & S. F. Ry.
brakeman who had stolen $10,000 from the Wells-Fargo
Express Company at La Junta, Colorado, during the ex
citement of a train wreck.
A ride of 700 miles on the Atchison, Topeka & Santa
Fe Railway brought me to El Paso, Texas, and another
1,200 miles on the Mexican Central Railway brought me
to the City of Mexico.
On arriving there the first thing I did was to write a
nice letter to my friend Taylor in Pagosa Springs, telling
him that I had got a telegram from my brother in Texas
warning me to skip, as the grand jury had found a true
3
34 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
bill against me for murder, and that I intended to remain
in the City of Mexico a month or so until my brother
could get money to me ; then I was going to lose myself
in the wilds of South America. My address in the City
of Mexico under a new assumed name was given to Mr.
Taylor, and in the course of three weeks I received a nice
long letter from him. He told me that the grand jury
in Colorado had indicted him, Sheriff Dyke and fourteen
of the other leaders, for running the county officials out
of Archuleta county and burning their property. He said
that they were all then under heavy bond, and on account
of the mysterious way in which I left, they had laid their
downfall on to my giving them away before the grand
jury ; that they were mad enough to murder me if I could
have been found; that I only had one friend in Pagosa
Springs who stuck up for me to the last and refused to
believe me guilty, and that was his wife. He said that
this showed how a woman could be a true friend when
once her mind is made up. He assured me that no matter
to what part of the earth I might drift, I could count on
having true friends in Pagosa Springs, and that any time
I should need money or help, to write him. I have never
seen any of the Archuleta county warriors since leaving
there, hence I do not know whether I am regarded as an
outlaw yet or not. I see by the papers that Taylor still
lives in Pagosa Springs, which has grown to be an im
portant railroad town, and that he is judge of the court
there.
In dismissing the Archuleta county uprising, I wish to
state that these men had good cause for revolting, as
politics in that county were rotten. Most of them were
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 35
honorable citizens, though a little rough and wild. Of
course, I felt "sore" at them for wanting to hang me up
by the neck.
I shall always hold my friend Gordon G. as one of the
"true blue" sons of the Lone Star State, as he knows
how to stick to a friend.
A few nights after my arrival in Mexico City, a big
earthquake shook up the city. It shook the Guadaola
Hotel where I had a room on the fourth floor, from stem
to stern. Many people in the city, according to reports,
had been killed. The next morning the streets were still
lined with natives praying.
A few days later the big day of the Republic, the Fifth
of May, was celebrated, and I then saw my first bull fight,
and I never want to witness another. If ever Uncle Sam
should want a good soldier to help wipe Mexico off the
face of the earth or make her promise to quit her cold
blooded cruelties to dumb animals, he can count on me
and I will gladly furnish my own ammunition. They
pitted three bulls imported from Spain against four native
bulls. The ones from Spain were artists when it came
to butchering horses. If they had killed a few of the
ignorant and cruel Mexicans who were riding the poor
beasts up to be gored to death, they would have won my
applause. One horse was sewed up six times and each
time ridden back to be gored again, until finally killed
by the bull. It was enough to disgust a Piute Indian, and
still men, women and little children went wild and shouted
for joy at the sight of blood and the suffering of the dumb
brutes.
To show what a great head I've got for avoiding
36 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
danger, I will cite a little instance. A Mexican National
Railway engineer, whose arm was in a sling, having been
injured in a recent wreck, was out with me to see the
sights. We visited the noted Church of Guadalupe,
which is saTd to have been built by Montezuma in memory
of the angel Guadalupe. After going through the church
and seeing the "scrape" (blanket), which this angel saint
wore on her flying trip from heaven to Mexico City, we
climbed the hill to the graveyard where all the noted
warriors are buried. It covers a couple of acres and a
guard with a rifle and sword is kept on duty night and
day.
On coming to old General Santa Ana's grave, I thought
of poor Davy Crockett and his brave followers who met
their fate in the Alamo at San Antonio, Texas, through
the inhuman blood-craving of this same old general. The
earth mound where he sleeps was plastered over with all
kinds of fancy, many-colored pieces of broken china-
ware. One particularly pretty piece took my eye and I
told the engineer that it would be in my cabinet of curios
even if it should cost me a leg. The engineer said it
would mean possible death or a long term in a Mexican
dungeon if I were caught stealing from this "heap big
chief's" grave, but when he found that I was determined
to risk a fight to a finish with this copper-colored son of
old Montezuma, he agreed to assist me by steering the
watchman away to another part of the graveyard and
keeping his back towards me by asking him questions
about the city which lay at our feet in plain view. The
guard stood in sight with the seat of his white cotton
pants towards me when I and old Colt's 45 climbed over
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 37
the sharp-pointed, tall iron pickets and secured the prize.
We wondered if Davy Crockett turned over in his grave
to smile.
When a cowboy, and on a tear, we used to often in
fun get up on the bar and yell: "I'm a wolf, and to
night is my night to howl. I've got two rows of teeth,
one for ransacking graveyards and the other for devour
ing human beings." Little did I dream then that in
years to come I would ransack old Santa Ana's grave
just to satisfy a greedy desire for a pretty relic and to
break the slow monotony of a peaceful life.
Much of my time was spent with Supt. Daniel Turner
and his assistants in the Wells-Fargo office. They had
just gone through a siege of fool Mexican law. They
had all been held prisoners in their own offices over a
peeled duck — that is, a duck with the feathers off.
A few hundred miles north, as a passenger train was
fixing to pull out for the capital, a Mexican came run
ning up to the Wells-Fargo agent with a duck in his
hand. He demanded that it be expressed to his friend in
Mexico City. This the agent said was impossible, as his
duckship had to be billed out in regular form and now
the train was ready to start. The result was the train
pulled out leaving Mr. Mexican and his duck on the
station platform. But he had his revenge as soon as he
could reach the office of the Alcalde and make complaint.
For a week or two the agent lay in a dungeon and Supt.
Turner and his assistants dare not venture on the streets,
as the place was surrounded by guards day and night.
For a week Mr. Turner and his men had to eat and sleep
in the office on account of the measly little duck, for the
38 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
law prohibited the officers from going inside the house
to arrest them.
I had located my man who had stolen the $10,000.
He was living under an assumed name, but he was free
from arrest while on Mexican soil, so for that reason I
had to keep track of him until he left Mexico. This
suited me, as it allowed me a month or two to see the
sights and to have a good time.
The thief invested some of the stolen money in dia
monds. I kept track of the purchases. Finally he got
ready to sail from Vera Cruz on a steamship for Havana,
Cuba, thence to New York City, and by rail to his home
in Leavenworth, Kansas. I was all ready to go with him
on the ship and thereby see Cuba and the City of New
York, but word came that yellow fever had broken out
in Havana, and our trip was abandoned. However, we
started for the United States by way of El Paso, Texas.
I remained with my man until he reached his home in
Leavenworth, then had him arrested, and I departed for
Denver, reaching there after an absence of about two
months. Being so busy and constantly on the jump, I
never went to the trouble to find out how many years in
the penitentiary my friend received.
After only a few days spent with Mamie and Viola, I
had to "hit" the road again, this time for Roseta, a min
ing camp in Custer county, Colorado, to capture the
world renowned Bassick mine.
Four of us operatives, John Rucker, who had traveled
with Barnum's circus as a Dickenson man for years, a
fellow by the name of Goods, a Frenchman with a
name as long as my arm, and myself, started armed to
39
the teeth with Winchester rifles, pistols and playing
cards.
At Canon City we left the railroad and drove over the
Greenhorn range of mountains in a vehicle loaded with
ammunition and grub to stand a long siege. A drive of
twenty miles or more brought us to the top of a mountain
overlooking the great Bassick mine and the little village
of Quereda nestling at its feet. A mile further was the
town of Roseta, noted for its tough men and the bloody
local battles fought in the early history of Colorado
mining. Eight miles to the west lay the prosperous
mining camp of Silver Cliff, and the railroad town of
West Cliff.
During the night we moved down the hill and entered
the large Bassick hoisting works by breaking in a rear
window. The custodian, a Kentucky colonel and ex-
sheriff of Custer county whose name was Schofield, was
at his home in Quereda, a few hundred yards down the
mountain side, asleep.
In law, possession is nine points to the good, therefore,
we had gained the points aimed at for our client, Mr.
David Bryan, the Minnesota millionaire; but the ques
tion was could we hold it in the face of the great ddds
which Schofield could muster.
We sat up all night and next morning when Schofield
unlocked the big front door of the hoisting works, as
was his custom as paid custodian for Bassick and his
associates, we threw our rifles down on him and made
him go away and leave the door open. He had a pistol
but made no effort to draw it, his surprise being so great.
After he had climbed down off the high platform in front
40 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
of the door, he was in the main street of Quereda. Across
the street was the postoffice and a couple of stores, the
remaining buildings being vacant. Finally Schofield re
covered from his surprise and demanded to know what we
meant. We laughed and told him that we had merely
captured his job from him while he slept. He swore that
he would dispossess us if it cost all the blood in Roseta.
He then got on a horse and galloped over the hill to
that town. Anticipating that the men of Roseta would
open war on us, our superintendent had sent his trusted
bookkeeper, Lawton, to Roseta a few days previous, so
as to post us of impending danger. That night a little
after midnight, our man Lawton slipped up to a rear
window of the hoist and called for us. He was too
badly frightened to come in. He gave a note to one of
our men and then began "hitting" the high places over
the mountains for Canon City. The note read about as
follows: "Boys, run for your lives. Don't wait. 300
armed men, many of them drunk and desperate are now
on the way from Roseta under the leadership of Scho
field to kill you and take possession of the mine. I am
off for Canon City. Follow me quick, beforfe it is too
late."
We held a hurried council of war and decided to stand
"pat" and die fighting "all same" the noted heroes under
Davy Crockett at the Alamo. "Frenchy" was the only
man who looked pale and he wondered what would be
come of his wife if he were .killed.
Stationing ourselves at upper story windows from
whence the little valley towards Roseta and the side of
the mountain towards Canon City could be scanned, we
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 41
awaited results with rifles ready. Soon the moon came
out, but she had no blood on her face. I told "Frenchy"
that this was considered a good sign during war times.
About 3 o'clock we heard fierce yelling over the hill
towards Roseta. Soon, by the bright light of the moon,
we saw a dark mass of something creeping over the crest
of the hill, a distance of half a mile or more. The yell
ing still continued. On drawing nearer we discovered the
black mass to be men. When within about a quarter of a
mile of us the one hundred to two hundred men stopped
and collected into a solid round bunch — holding a con
sultation preparatory to making the final charge, thought
we. The yelling had ceased. In a few moments the men
began to string out again towards us. We could see that
many carried rifles or shotguns, and many were stagger
ing as though loaded with "booze." The yelling had be
gun again. Soon all stopped and we could hear loud
cursing as though they were fighting among themselves.
At last, to our great delight, all but two men started back
towards Roseta. The two staggered on to Schofield's
house and disappeared inside. One of them was Scho-
field. Next day we heard through the postmistress, a
young lady from Chillicothe, Mo., that the mob broke up
in a drunken row. Thus ended my second bloodless war
within a space of four months.
The Rocky Mountain Daily Neivs of Denver gave the
following account of our arrival :
"LAWLESSNESS AT SILVER CLIFF.
SILVER CLIFF, COLO., June 21, 1887.
This community was convulsed with excitement last evening
about 6 o'clock, on receipt of news that the Bassick mine had
42 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
been captured by an armed force of men from abroad. Nothing
definite could be gleaned until this morning, when it was learned
that four men armed with Winchesters marched at once to the
mine, broke in the doors of the old and new works and took
possession. They are strangers and have ammunition and pro
vision for a long siege. It has been ascertained that they are
under orders from President Brown of the Bassick Mining Com
pany."
In a few days Mr. Chas. Handsell, of the Denver law
firm of Mathewson, Thornes & Handsell, came to the
Bassick mine to see how we were getting along. As
there was some wild talk by Schofield and his friends
about ousting us, Mr. Handsell hired two fighting men
in Silver Cliff to assist us.
In the course of a week or so matters quieted down and
all were called off the job but Rucker and me. After this
Schofield, who had been drowning his trouble in drink,
made friends with Rucker and me, but we wouldn't allow
him to loaf with us on our front porch — the platform in
front of the hoist. He had to stand on the ground and
hand the bottle up for us to drink out of. He thought
this wasn't treating him right after he had buried the
hatchet. Then, too, we always made him drink out of
the bottle first, so if there was poison in it he would
die too.
Soon after this, Schofield put up a slick Kentucky job
on me, but it failed to work. It was Texas against Ken
tucky, and the Lone Star State won with hands down.
One evening about dark, Schofield came to our front
porch with only one good drink in his bottle, but he said
there was a demijohn full of the same kind of stuff in
his cellar, and that if I would go with him he would give
A COWBOY DETECTIVE f^43
me a quart bottle full. I went, and on starting down the
cellar steps at his residence, they being on the outside of
the house, he stepped to one side to let me go down first
but I balked. He then went ahead and on passing through
the inner door he stepped to one side to let me pass.
Here I suggested that he keep in the middle of the road
and in front. He then went to the opposite side of the
cellar and rilled the bottle from a jug, then gave me a
drink and I backed out of the door and up the steps.
Next day a friend told us that Schefield had failed to
trap me in his cellar. He said the inner door had been
arranged with a spring lock so that he could stand out
side and pull the door shut, leaving me a prisoner inside ;
that then it was arranged to capture Rucker and take
possession of the mine.
In the course of a few weeks the court appointed a
custodian to take charge of the mine. Then Rucker and
I left for Denver, and shortly after Rucker returned to
the New York Branch of the Dickenson agency, where
he still hangs out.
CHAPTER III
To WHITE RIVER AS AN OUTLAW — THE UTE INDIAN
WAR — RIDING AND ROPING UNDER NAME OF "DULL
KNIFE" AT A DENVER COWBOY TOURNAMENT — OFF
FOR WYOMING AS AN OUTLAW.
A rest of a few days in Denver, and Supt. A in
structed me to get ready for a trip among the Ute Indians
who were then reported to be on the warpath.
It was the fall of 1887. . The work was to be done for
a wealthy widow by the name of Mrs. Tice. She
and a Mr. C owned a small cattle ranch in western
Colorado. She suspicioned that she was being robbed by
their foreman and her partner. So, for there I started out
in my cowboy rigging.
In Rifle, on Grande River, I left the Denver & Rio
Grande train and on the upper deck of a civilized pony
I started north over the mountains for Meeker, on White
River. A moderate ride of a day and a half brought me
to the town made famous by the "Meeker Massacre."
On my arrival in Meeker the excitement of a late Indian
war had subsided. A week or ten days previous, a battle
had been fought on the head of White River, a day's ride
from Meeker, and on leaving Denver I was instructed to
investigate this battle for an official of the U. S. Govern
ment, after finishing the cattle operation.
From Meeker, a day's ride down the river brought me
to the cattle ranch owned by Mrs. Tice and C. With the
44
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 45
foreman and cowboys I played myself off as an outlaw
Texan, and by being an expert with a lasso I soon won
their friendship.
In the course of two weeks I had secured sufficient
evidence to show that our friend, Mrs. Tice, was being
robbed.
I then returned to Meeker and from there went to the
head of White River to investigate the killing of some
Ute Indians by the sheriff and a crowd of ranchmen.
Before leaving Meeker I wrote a letter to Mr. Geo. L.
Golding, of Denver, asking that my name be put on the
list of wild-horse riders and steer ropers, in the grand
Cowboy Tournament soon to take place. I signed myself
"Dull Knife," with Meeker as my home, so that no one
would know me.
The name "Dull Knife" was selected on account of it
once having been my nickname on the cattle ranges of
Texas. It was given to me by cowboy companions who
were in the habit of borrowing my pearl-handled bowie
knife, and always finding it dull, from having killed so
many rattle snakes. Through years of practice I had be
come an expert in throwing the knife from my horse's
back. By holding the point between my thumb and fore
finger I would throw it at the snake's neck and seldom
failed to pin his snakeship to the earth by burying the
blade through his neck or head into the ground. Often
the blade would sever the snake's head from his body.
Of course the knife was kept dull from being stuck into
the earth so often.
On the head of White River I visited the few ranchmen
and hunters and was shown the battle ground where the
46 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Ute Indians were murdered by the blood-thirsty Whites.
From what I could learn from eyewitnesses, it was cold
blooded murder. The fight was started by the long-
legged, wild and woolly sheriff of Garfield County, who
soon after absconded with the county's funds. The
excitement of the "Great Indian Uprising" caused the
militia to be called out, and made fat pocket-books for
the ranchers who had horses, hay and grain for sale.
Besides, the sheriff lined his pockets with free silver at
the county's expense.
This was my first peep behind the curtain of a great
Indian war, as illustrated by glaring headlines in the daily
press. We wondered who are the real savages, the
Whites or the Reds.
On leaving the head of White River for Denver, I con
cluded to take a short cut across the Flattop mountains, a
distance of sixty miles between ranches.
The start was made from the cabin of a hunter at the
head of White River. From him I had bought an ex
traordinary fine pair of elk horns. These I undertook
to carry on my pony by holding them up in front of me
with the skull resting on the saddle-horn. In traveling
that lonely sixty mile stretch over the old Ute Indian
trail, I had plenty of leisure to ponder over that wise say
ing: "What fools these mortals be."
Crossing the "Flattops" I saw more deer than I ever
expect to see again. There were hundreds of them in
sight at all times and they were very tame. Often they
would stand by the side of the trail and allow me to pass
within fifty paces of them. I saw one herd of elk, but
they ran into the heavy timber near by before I could get
47
out my Winchester rifle and shoot. I would have fol
lowed on their trail, as I had never killed an elk, if it
hadn't been for the pair of elk horns. I pitched camp
about sundown and killed a fat buck for supper. I had
brought with me some salt and cold biscuits. The veni
son was broiled on a stick over the fire.
By daylight next morning the horns and I headed
south. We got off on the wrong trail and were lost part
of the day, but by hard swearing and a little patience we
managed to get down over the rim-rock of the "Flattops"
into the Grand Valley about half way between Newcastle
and Glemvood Springs. On the road in the valley a boy
leading a bronco overtook us. The boy was persuaded to
allow me to make a pack-horse out of his bronco, so Mr.
"bronc" was blindfolded and the horns put astride of his
back. When securely fastened with a rope the blind was
raised and Hades broke loose. The bronco began bucking
and running and the rope which was fastened to the horn
of my saddle broke. Then the horns had a swift ride for
quite a distance, but as the run was made towards Glen-
wood Springs no time was lost. The boy and I caught the
bronco after he had become exhausted. Then the horns
were strapped onto my civilized pony and I rode the un
civilized brute. It was long after dark when we landed
in Glenwood Springs. Next day the horns were crated
and expressed to Denver, and after selling my pony and
saddle I took passage on the same train with the antlers.
On my arrival in Denver I secured permission from my
superintendent to enter the Cowboy Tournament at River
Side Park. It was to take place in a couple of days and
I had no time to lose.
£8 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
After making a search of all the livery stables in the
city I finally found a small white cow-pony which I
thought would answer my purpose. He was quick and
active, but too light in weight for such work. I also
secured an old Texas saddle, as I couldn't get used to
the high horn kind in use by northern cowboys. This
old Texas saddle was the cause of my losing the steer
roping prize, as the horn flew off when the weight of the
steer and pony went against it. I feel confident that I
would have won the prize, as the best time made was
many seconds slower than the time made by me at a Cald-
well, Kansas, fair several years previous, at which time I
won a silver cup; and in the Kansas contest I lost
valuable time by having to throw the steer twice.
In the wild-horse riding contest luck was also against
me. After throwing the big bay bronco in quick time, I
sprang off the white pony onto the bronco's head. Then
to prevent him from choking to death, I cut the rope,
knowing that he was in my power with both my knees on
his neck and a good hand hold on his nose. But when I
reached for the hackamore (a cowboy halter) and
the leather blind which had been carried under my pistol
belt, I found they were gone. They had slipped out from
under the belt when I leaped out of the saddle. I saw
them lying on the ground just out of my reach. Accord
ing to the rules, no one could hand them to me, therefore
I could do nothing but free the bronco and lose my
chance at the prize. In reporting the matter the news
paper reporters had failed to comprehend my situation:
They were green and didn't know why I held the strug
gling bronco by the nose for several minutes before turn-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 49
ing him loose. Of course my cowboy opponents realized
the cause of my predicament and cheered with joy, as it
made their chances of winning more secure. I had been
told that they feared the "dark horse," "Dull Knife,"
from Meeker, and had made much inquiry as to my
identity.
This is what two of the leading daily papers of the
city — The Rocky Mountain News and the Republican —
had to say about "Dull Knife" the next morning. One
paper stated:
"None knew who the next man was who rode out on a white
pony. They called him Dull Knife, and he was from Meeker.
That was all the information obtainable. But Dull Knife was a
daisy. With new white sombrero, Mexican saddle, leather-fringed
chaparejos, flaming red 'kerchief, belt and pearl handled revolver
and knife, he was all that the eastern imagination of the typical
cowboy could picture. As a bronco breaker, however, he wasn't
a brilliant success. A bay was pointed out to him and away they
flew. It didn't take that cunning bay bronco more than a minute
to find out that he was wanted. With all the natural cussedness
of his breed it didn't take him more than a second to determine
that he would fool somebody. Dashing here and there, with
flashing eyes and streaming main and tail, the animal was a pretty
picture. The white pony was too cunning for him though, and
soon put his rider in a position where the rope could be thrown
and the arched neck caught in the running loop. The captive
was thrown by twining the rope around his limbs and then Dull
Knife made a skillful move. He cut the rope loose and held the
struggling animal by the nose. But while he was subduing the
horse, the man had gotten too far away from his saddle and
couldn't get back to it. The judges at length called time and
the pretty bay was free."
The other paper gave this account :
"When Dull Knife rode in armed with pearl-handled pistol
and knife, a gold embroidered Mexican sombrero on his head
4
so
and mounted on a beautiful, quick-reined, white pony, he was
such a perfect and graceful type of a Texas cowboy that the
audience gave one spontaneous Ah-h-h! of admiration. The
little white was a daisy and ran up on Dull Knife's bronco easy.
Dull Knife was the only man this day to rope and throw his
bronco on horseback. But the rope had fouled in the bronco's
mane, and it was choking to death, so Dull Knife cut the rope,
mercifully, freed the bronco and lost his time to ride. Dull
Knife assayed roping and tying, but luck was against him. The
horn of his light Texas saddle broke off close to the fork. Re
gaining his rope he tied it in the forks of his saddle and tried
it again, but his beautiful little cut horse was too light and tried
to hold the big burly steer which dragged it all over the corral,
so Dull Knife, chafing with chagrin, had to give in to hard luck
and call it a draw.
"Dull Knife and E. A. Shaeffer next stretched a steer in
quick time."
Several days after the tournament George Golding and
Mr. B. G. Webster, while riding in a buggy, happened to
see me on the street. Hailing me as "Dull Knife" they
called me to them. They said they had been trying to
find me but no one knew who "Dull Knife" was or where
a letter would reach him. I was then informed that the
judges had voted me $15.00 for skillful cowboy perform
ance and that a check for that amount awaited me at
headquarters. Of course I went after the check and still
retain it as a relic, as it states that it was presented to
"Dull Knife" for skillful cowboy work.
For many years afterwards, and even up to the present
time, I meet men who call me "Dull Knife," from having
seen me at this Cowboy Tournament. It was several
years after, before Geo. Golding — who is still proprietor
of the City Sale Yards and Stables, and has since served
as Denver's Chief of Police — learned of my identity.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 51
In the course of a week or two Mrs. Tice brought suit
in a Denver Court to annul her partnership with Mr.
C or for damages, I have forgotten which. I was
the star witness, and on the strength of my testimony as
to the way cattle were being stolen, Mrs. Tice won. The
foreman and one of his cowboys who were present in
court, were surprised on finding that I was a detective
instead of an outlaw.
A few days after ending Mrs. Tice's case I was off
for Wyoming as a cowboy outlaw.
Kalter Skoll, the Cheyenne, Wyoming, attorney, who
has lately won fame through the conviction and execu
tion of Tim Corn, the stock detective, had written my
superintendent to send him a cowboy detective who could
make friends with a gang of tough characters on the
Laramie River.
Before starting, my superintendent informed me that I
was going up against a hard proposition, as Gen. Dave
Cook, head of the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency,
had sent three of his men up into Wyoming to get in with
this gang, but had failed, they being on the lookout for
detectives, hence wouldn't allow strangers to enter their
camp.
On my arrival in Cheyenne I called on District At
torney Skoll. He explained the case on which I was to
work. He told how Bill McCoy had shot and killed
Deputy Sheriff Gun» in Lusk, Wyoming, and of McCoy
being sentenced to hang for the crime, but that he broke
jail in Cheyenne just before he was to be executed, and
was trailed up to the Keeline ranch, which was run by
Tom Hall, a Texas outlaw and his gang of cowboys, who
52 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
were supposed to be ex-convicts from Texas. He felt
sure that McCoy was in hiding at the Keeline ranch, but
he said it would be a difficult matter to get in with them
as they were on their guard against officers and detectives.
I boarded the Cheyenne northern train and went north
to its then terminus. There I bought a horse and saddle
and struck out, ostensibly for Fort Douglas, about 100
miles north.
The second day out I stopped for dinner at "Round Up
No. 5 Saloon." This place was run by Howard, an ex-
policeman and saloon keeper from Cheyenne. His wife
was an ex-prize fighter and dance hall "girl" during the
palmy days of the Black Hill excitement in Cheyenne.
She was now getting old, but could still hide large quanti
ties of liquor under her belt. After dinner I proceeded
to get drunk so as to kill time. Mr. and Mrs. Howard
drank with me. In telling of my past I told just enough
to lead them to believe that I was a Texas outlaw headed
for the north.
About 4 p. M. I saddled my horse and made a start for
Fort Douglas, but on shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs.
Howard, they being the only people beside myself present,
and bidding them goodby, they persuaded me to have one
more drink at their expense. Then, of course, I had to
treat before making another start. This program was
kept up for half an hour.
I had never mentioned the Keeline ranch, which I
knew lay over a small range of mountains five miles east.
As winter had set in, there was very little travel on this
Fort Douglas road, and the cowboys had all gone into
winter quarters. Howard depended on the summer cattle
53
round-ups for his business. He said he and his wife
merely existed during the winter seasons. His saloon
was located at No. 5 round-up grounds.
Finally, I mounted and made another start, pretending
to be drunker than I really was. As I rode off, Howard
wished me well. Checking up my horse I remarked that
I would be all right if I could run across some Texas
boys up at Douglas. Then I asked if he knew of any
Texas boys in that part of the country. He replied:
"There are several Texas fellers not far from here, but
they are in trouble and won't let strangers into their
camp." At this I wheeled my horse around and rode
back. I asked where they could be found. He replied:
"No use going there, for they would run you off and
perhaps kill you. The officers have been trying to get
detectives in with them. They swear they will kill the
next that looks suspicious."
I answered: "If they are from Texas I'm not afraid
of them. Just tell me where they are and I'll take chances
on the killing part."
He pointed out a bridle path around a high peak and
said I would find their camp on the other side of this on
the edge of a clump of cottonwood timber. We then
went into the saloon and had two more drinks and I
bought a quart of his best whiskey, which was the same
as his worst, though labeled differently.
I explained that the boys could drink with me and then
run me off if they wanted to; but Howard plead with
me not to go.
On mounting I buried the spurs into my horse's flanks
and gave a cowboy yell and away we flew through the
54 'A COWBOY DETECTIVE
heavy grove of cottonwood timber. There was no trail,
and my horse had to jump fallen logs and trees and I
dodged projecting limbs. I wanted to prove to Howard
that I was a reckless cowboy who had no fear of danger.
Looking back I saw Howard and his wife watching me.
The saloon was finally lost to view and then I rode
slowly and began to lay plans, though it was quite an
effort as the whiskey had gone to my head.
Howard had told me that there were fourteen men at
the Keeline ranch, but he wouldn't tell me what kind of
trouble they were in.
On reaching the foot of the high peak I struck the
bridle trail which had been pointed out. This I followed
over the range. When on the opposite side, my horse
was made to gallop in the most dangerous places, for I
figured that my horses' tracks would be examined. In a
rocky place where the trail went around a point and
where a horse on a gallop could hardly keep his feet,
I stopped. Here I knew the horse's tracks couldn't be
seen. At this point I got above the horse and gave him
a shove over the rocky bluff. He landed on his side in
the soft sand in the dry arroyo, twenty feet below. The
fall knocked the wind out of him, but he soon recovered
and jumped to his feet. I held one end of the rope so
that he couldn't get away. The impression of the horse
and saddle showed plainly in the sand. Climbing down
on the rocks I fell on my left side, leaving the impression
of my body in the sand where it would have been had I
fallen with the horse. I then jumped up, and dragging
my crippled left leg through the sand, led the horse to a
place where we could get back to the trail. Here I pulled
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 55
off my left boot and ripped the seam of my pants' leg
nearly to the knee. Then I rolled the knit woolen
drawer's leg up above the knee. This made a tight roll
which checked the flow of blood, causing the knee to
become red. It also had a tendency to shove the flesh
downward and make the knee look swollen. I then
rubbed the knee with dry grass and poured some of
Howard's "rattle-snake juice" on. After tying the left
boot to the saddle I mounted and headed for the large
grove of cottonwood timber on the bank of the Laramie
River.
Just after the sun had set I came in sight of a group
of log houses on the edge of the grove. Not a breath of
air was stirring and a column of smoke from a chimney
pierced the lead-colored clouds above. I was riding
slowly across an open flat. Soon I saw a man come out
of the large log house. Then others followed until there
were about a dozen lined up against the yard fence. I
wondered what kind of a game I was running up against
and where it would end. It was a case of forward
march, with me, even though it led to death "all same,"
a fool soldier who marches up to the cannon mouth to
have his head shot off so that posterity can weep and
plant flowers on his grave.
As I drew near my body reeled as though drunk. My
left leg was kept stiff and out of the stirrup. When
within sixty paces of the yard gate where all the men
stood, a fine looking six-footer, who proved to be the
boss, Tom Hall, asked: "What in the h are you
doing here?" I replied that my leg was broken and I
needed some help. Hall sprang out of the gate and run-
56 'A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ning up to me asked in a soft, sympathetic voice, how it
happened. There was a wonderful change in his looks
as well as voice, when he found I was crippled.
Soon the whole gang, all heavily armed, were around
me and I was taken off the horse and carried into the
house where I was seated before a blazing log fire in the
large fire-place. Then Hall got down on his knees be
fore me to examine the wound. I took pains to roll up
the pants' leg which was only ripped part way to the
knee, so as to hide the roll of knit drawers, this being
the secret of my swollen knee. I had previously been
shot with a large caliber bullet through this knee, and
there was a large scar where the bullet entered, and an
other on the opposite side where it was cut out by the
doctor. This helped to brand me as an outlaw in their
minds.
After pressing the swollen flesh with his hand, Hall
asked me to move my toes. I did so, as I didn't want
the leg to appear broken for fear they might haul me
off to a doctor. On moving my toes he said my leg
was not broken. I asked how he could tell by the moving
of the toes, and he explained. Then he asked me to bend
my knee and also to twist it around, but this I couldn't
do on account of the pain. He decided that my leg was
badly sprained or out of joint. He ordered hot water
and a towel brought and my knee was bathed and the
hot towel bound around it. Then he demanded an ex
planation as to how I came to leave the Douglas road to
visit them. I explained matters fully, and told the place
where my horse fell over the bluff. He asked why I left
Texas to come up to such a cold country so late in the
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 57
season. With a smile I told him that the people of Texas
tried to get me to stay, and even followed me to Red
River on the Indian Territory border; in hopes of over
taking me so as to compel me to stay. This caused a
laugh, as it meant that officers of the law had chased me
to the State line.
Here I looked over towards a sullen, dark com-
plexioned young man whom I had recognized as Jim
McChesney, a boy raised in Southern Texas, and I asked
him what he had done with his old sweetheart Matilda
Labaugh. He was surprised and asked who -in the
h I was, that I should know he courted Matilda
Labaugh over twenty years previous. I wouldn't tell
him, but did say that he could call me Charlie Henderson.
He then asked if I knew his name. I told him, yes, that
it ought to be Jim McChesney. This was another surprise,
and he wanted to know when I left the part of Texas
where Matilda had lived. I told him that I pulled out
one night in 1872 when a boy, but that I had slipped
back to see my friends many times since then. His face
brightened, and walking up to me he shook my hand,
saying: "I know you." Then he whispered in my ear
and asked if I wasn't one of the Pumphry boys. I told
him that my name was Henderson now. I had chosen
the year 1872, for at that time two of the Pumphry boys,
mere children, had committed murder and left the
country. McChesney felt sure that I was one of these
boys, and that suited me.
Finally, all left the room to hold a consultation. Two
men were dispatched with a lantern to examine the place
where I said my horse had fallen over the bluff, and to
58 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ride to Howard's saloon to find out if I had told the
truth. Another man was sent in haste to a small ranch
three miles down the river, after some linament. Supper
was then brought in and set before me. In the course
of an hour and a half the man returned with the linament
and Hall applied it to the supposed wound, and he bound
up the knee so tight with bandages that it pained, but
the tight bandages did good in preventing me from
thoughtlessly bending my leg and thereby giving myself
away.
About 10 o'clock the two "boys" returned from
Howard's. Then all went outside and held a long con
sultation. Next day Jim McChesney told me confidential
ly that Howard had confirmed the truthfulness of my story
and had told of the reckless manner in which I had run
through the woods. He said he was not surprised at
hearing of my being hurt, that he expected to see me
killed before I got out of his sight.
Several days later McChesney told me of their long
council of war, after the two "boys" had returned from
Howard's. He said most of the "boys," especially the
three escaped convicts from the penitentiary in Hunts-
ville, Texas, were afraid that I might be a detective and
insisted that I be taken out to a tree and hung up by the
neck, just to frighten me into a confession in case I was
a detective ; but said he and Tom Hall argued against it
as they felt confident that I was all right. Hall argued
that it would be a shame to take advantage of a poor
crippled man. He said if I was a detective that I couldn't
help from showing it before many days and then I could
be hung for "keeps."
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 59
All the men slept on camp beds spread on the floor,
except Hall. He had a private room cut off from a cor
ner of the kitchen, and in it he had a single bedstead.
This he kindly turned over to me and he slept with one
of the "boys" on the floor.
It was after I o'clock A M. when I went to bed, as I
pretended that my leg was paining so that I could not
sleep, any way. After being put to bed by Hall I took
off the bandages from my leg so that I could rest my
knee by bending it. I retired with my Colt's 45 pistol
in the shoulder scabbard under my overshirt, and my
bowie knife was swung to my waist by a small belt under
my drawers. Therefore no one had seen my gun and
knife. The cartridge belt containing my supply of
ammunition was in my "war-bag," and this I put under
my head. I slept very little during the night. Before
daylight next morning, I fastened the bandages back on
my leg so as to keep it stiff while hobbling about the
house. After breakfast, Hall and McChesney made me
a pair of crutches.
A few of the "boys" seemed suspicious of me, especially
Johnny Franklin, a bowlegged Texan, who had escaped
from the penitentiary in that State, so McChesney told
me.
During the day Hall played "foxy" and tried to find
out more about me. In speaking of Texas cowboys he
asked if I ever knew Bill Gatlin. I told him yes, that
I had worked with him in the Panhandle country until
he got into trouble and had to skip and change his name
again. I told him that Bill Gatlin was a name he had
adopted after coming to northern Texas. These were
60 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
facts, as I had known Gatlin well, but I never dreamed
that he was the Bill McCoy I was now trying to locate.
A few days later, after I had convinced Hall that I
was all right and was really acquainted with Gatlin and
many of his Texas friends, he confided in me and told
me how Bill Gatlin, under the name of Bill McCoy, had
killed Deputy Sheriff Gunn, and was sentenced to hang,
and that he (Hall) and others paid a slick jail breaker
from the East $500 to commit a petty crime in Cheyenne
so as to be put in jail. The result was that he sawed
the bars and liberated McCoy and the other prisoners.
A horse was kept in hiding for McCoy and he came direct
to the Keeline ranch where they had kept him hid out
in the hills until a few days before my arrival, when he
was mounted on Hall's pet roan race-horse and skipped
for New Orleans, there to take a sailing vessel for Buenos
Ayres, South America. For a pack animal McCoy used
a large-hoofed bay horse that he had stolen from the
sheriff's posse who were searching for him. Later, Hall
and McChesney told many incidents of how they had
fooled the sheriff's posse of 100 men who were scouring
the hills for McCoy.
A week later we all rode 40 miles to attend a dance at
John Owens' ranch, a mile above the "Hog ranch" (a
tough saloon and sporting house) at Fort Laramie. I
was still walking on crutches, therefore couldn't dance.
The crutches were tied to my saddle en route. Late at
night when the "boys" were pretty well loaded with liquor
I rode to Fort Laramie and secured a room at the hotel
where my first reports were written. About daylight
my reports were mailed to Denver, and then I rode back
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 61
to the dance. The crowd had simmered down to just a
few ladies and many drunken cowboys who kept the air
outside full of smoke from their revolvers. My friends,
McChesney and Franklin, were the worst. I finally
succeeded in getting my drunken friends into a room
to lay down, but McChesney raised such a racket break
ing the windows and furniture with his pistol, that we
had to abandon sleep and start back to the Keeline ranch.
As I was sober, it fell to my lot to get them all on their
horses and headed for home.
Hall and the cook had not come with us.
A supply of whiskey was taken along, and my life
was made miserable keeping the men from fighting. To
prevent McChesney from killing some one, I slipped the
cartridges out of his pistol without letting him know it.
Soon after this, McChesney and one of the "boys" got
into a fuss while riding along, and McChesney pulled
his pistol and began snapping it at the fellow, who pulled
his loaded pistol and would have killed McChesney if I
hadn't shoved my cocked revolver into his face just in
time. I made him ride on ahead while I kept McChesney
behind with me. We arrived at the Keeline ranch before
night, and were a hungry, sleepy crowd.
Our next excitement came a few days later, when
Howard came running over on horseback one evening to
tell us that his wife was dying. He had left her alone
while he came after help. All of us, Hall and the cook
included, rode over to Howard's and spent the night.
What happened would have made angels weep. Howard
turned the saloon over to us and the liquor was free.
Whiskey was poured down the poor woman's throat up
62 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
to the last breath. She died before midnight and then
the "Irish wake" began in dead earnest. Poor Howard,
a large fine-looking, middle-age man, cried as though his
heart would break. Between drinks he "harked back" to
the time when he first met the corpse. Then he was on
the police force of Cheyenne, and she was a beautiful
young woman who made a living by boxing and singing
on the saloon stages.
Until morning, whiskey and wine flowed like water,
and my friend McChesney was in clover. Cowboy songs,
both nice and vulgar, were sung over the corpse. Tom
Hall was the champion singer of the crowd.
Next day the body was put in a rough box and lowered
to its last resting place amid the drinking of toasts and
the singing of "There's a land that beats this all to
h 1, etc." One of the songs which was sung at the
burial amused me. It ran thus :
"Oh, see the train go 'round the bend,
Goodby, my lover, goodby;
She's loaded down with Dickenson men,
Goodby, my lover, goodby."
When we took our departure the Howard saloon looked
like a cyclone had struck it. The walls were shot full of
holes and the liquors were gone. Howard left for
Cheyenne when he sobered up. Of course, I didn't have
as much fun as the rest, owing to the fact that I had to
use one crutch.
With Mrs Howard under the sod "Calamity Jane" had
the field to herself. These two women were noted charac
ters in that part of Wyoming.
Finally my crutch was discarded and we made another
forty-mile ride to a dance at Fort Laramie. This time I
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 63
danced, and pretended to fall in love with a young lady
who lived at the terminus of the Cheyenne Northern
Railway. I wanted to make the excuse of riding over to
the railroad station to see this girl when my work was
finished at the Keeline ranch.
Reports were written, and much liquor destroyed, the
same as on our previous trip.
Soon after, Hall received a letter from Bill McCoy
in New Orleans. He was ready to sail for South
America. Hall had given him a letter of introduction to
a dentist in Buenos Ayres, South America. This answered
the purpose of a passport into a tough gang of outlaws
in the cattle country 1200 miles from this seaport, Buenos
Ayres. Hall showed me letters from one of the gang
there. His name was Moore and he was a Texas mur
derer. He wrote that they were over 100 strong, and
that double their number of officers couldn't [come in
there and arrest them.
Hall had been reared at Austin, Texas, and had to
skip out and change his name on account of a killing.
He also told me of his ups and downs in New Mexico
when he was a chum to the noted outlaw, Joe Fowler,
who was hung by a mob at Socorro, New Mexico. He
told how Fowler, after killing one of his own cowboys
in Socorro, had placed the $50,000 received for his
cattle and ranch to the credit of his sweetheart, Belle,
and that on the day when the mob was collecting to hang
Fowler that night, Belle drew $10,000 out of the bank
and turned it over to him (Hall) so that he could bribe
the jailer and liberate Fowler. Hall said he had the
jailor "fixed" but when the time for liberating Fowler
Came, the mob was collecting and the jailer backed out
for fear they would hang him, if Fowler was gone. Then
Hall said he hit the "high places" and came North. I
didn't ask if he brought the $10,000 with him, but took
it for granted that he did.
It happened that I was already familiar with Joe
Fowler's crimes. He murdered Jim Greathouse, who
was a friend of mine, and at White Oaks, New Mexico, in
1880, I knew of his murdering a cowboy whom he had
never seen before. Two cowboys had a pistol duel in Bill
Hudgen's Pioneer Saloon. One of them was mortally
wounded when Fowler, who had heard the shooting, came
running in. He asked the cause of the shooting. Some
one pointed to the wounded cowboy on the floor. Then
Fowler pulled out his pistol and shot him through the
head. The other cowboy was caught and hung to a tree
by Fowler and his gang, and by the rope route Fowler's
life was ended.
Finally, I struck out from the Keeline ranch to see
my girl at the railroad station. There my horse and
saddle were sold and I boarded the train for Cheyenne.
The Grand Jury were in session and I appeared before
them as a witness. Hall and his gang were indicted.
The sheriff and a large posse surrounded the Keeline
ranch at daylight one morning, and the Hall gang were
arrested. I was told that Hall remarked when arrested :
"That Henderson is at the bottom of this." The
fact that I did not come back had created a suspicion.
They were all landed in jail at Cheyenne and I felt
sorry for them, especially for Hall and McChesney. My
sympathy was overflowing for Hall because he is a prince,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 65
and has a heart in him like an ox. The sympathy for
McChesney was on account of having known him when a
boy, and having known his father in Caldwell, Kansas,
years later.
I lay in Denver waiting to be called as a witness against
Hall and his gang. But before the case was tried,
District Attorney Skoll, who at that time was trying to
get away with all the liquor in Cheyenne, had a row with
the judge on the bench, McGinnis, and the cases were
nolle pressed by Skoll. At least, this is the story told
by my superintendent, who was in Cheyenne at the time.
Thus my friends were liberated to my great joy, as I
didn't want to see them sent to the pen. I heard after
wards that three of the escaped convicts from Texas
were returned there, but as to its truthfulness I do not
know.
CHAPTER IV
IN JAIL WITH DENVER & Rio GRANDE HOLD-UPS —
ASPEN ORE-STEALING CASE — TESTING RAILROAD
CONDUCTORS — THE MUDSILL MINE-SALTING CASE —
IN LONGMONT AS A BRONCO-BUSTER — IN THE BULL-
PEN WITH HOBOES.
My next operation out of the city was a train robbery
case upon the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad. Doc.
Shores, the popular sheriff of Gunnison County,
Colorado, had charge of the case. He and I went to a
town in northwestern Kansas, Cawker City. Doc. Shores
remained until I went twenty or thirty miles out in the
country to work for a farmer by the name of Smith.
The train had been held up by three men, two of
whom were supposed to be the Smith brothers, sons of
this old farmer. The hold-up occurred near Green River
Station in western Colorado, and the Smith boys were
seen in the neighborhood under suspicious circumstances,
just before the hold-up.
Farmer Smith had a pretty black-eyed daughter and I
made love to her, as well as figuring on buying his farm.
The girl showed me a letter from her brothers, written
and mailed in Price, Utah, after the hold-up, showing that
they were in hiding in that neighborhood. In the letter
they stated they were going to a certain town in Arizona
soon. I also saw photos of the Smith brothers and se
cured their descriptions. Then my heart grew cold for
66
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 67
this pretty maiden and I "hiked" back to join Mr. Shores.
He at once wired his brother-in-law, Roe Allison, who
was his under-sheriff, to search around Price, Utah, for
the Smiths, as their letter had been mailed there.
We then started for Denver. There we boarded a 9
p. M. Denver & Rio Grande train for the line of Colorado
and Utah to take up the trail. After retiring in the
sleeper, Shores received a telegram from Roe Allison at
Green River, saying that they had captured the Smith
brothers and Rhodes, and would meet our train with
the prisoners at Montrose. After dark next evening
our train arrived in Montrose ahead of the east-
bound train containing the prisoners. Shores and I held
a consultation and decided that the best plan was for him
to put his hand-cuffs and leg-irons on me and pretend
that I was a desperate character whom he had captured
up the Gunnison River that day.
When the train pulled into the depot I was taken
aboard and placed in a seat near the other prisoners. I
acted sullen all the way to Gunnison, where we arrived
about 10 A. M. The whole town of Gunnison turned out
to see the desperate prisoners. We were marched with
our leg-irons on through the streets to the Court House
and jail, a distance of half a mi4e. The snow was over
a foot deep and the sidewalks were lined with people,
so that we had to walk in the street single file. I brought
up the rear and gave the people some hard contemptuous
glances. Mr. Shores told me afterwards that several
people said I was the toughest looking criminal in the
bunch.
All four of us were shoved into a steel cage just large
68
enough for us to lie down in. We were given a few
greasy quilts and blankets and our meals were put into
the cage. There were no other prisoners in the jail and
it was my wish that we be kept in close confinement for
a day or two, as confessions can be secured much easier
in that way.
Shores had been sheriff of this county for three terms
and had his residence over the jail in the second story.
Owing to my being a prisoner Mrs. Shores saw that we
were well fed. She often brought the meals herself.
Our cell was still spattered with human blood, where
a short time previous a man had cut his throat from ear
to ear, in the presence of an officer who was unlocking
the cell to take the fellow into court. After cutting his
throat he laid the knife carefully on a shelf and shaking
his fist at the officer fell over dead. Shores told us this
story when we asked about the blood. We also learned
that this cell had been the home of the man-eater, Alfred
Packard, who had killed and eaten the choice parts of
five men. He had been taken to the penitentiary for
life a few years previous.
My three bedfellows were a dirty lot and were alive
with vermin, as they had been in hiding on an island in
Green River for several weeks. And one of the Smiths
had a bullet wound through the head, which gave out an
odor that put on the finishing touch to the already foul
air in the cell. Smith had received the wound in a fight
among themselves ; at least that was their story.
After a few days of solitary confinement I secured a
full confession of how the train was held up, and they
told how up to the time of their arrest, they had remained
in hiding on an island in Green River.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 69
After being in jail two weeks I was taken out by a
supposed officer from Wyoming, who was taking me
there to be executed for murder.
I had confided in my companions, telling them of break
ing out of Wyoming jail after being sentenced to hang.
The "boys" really shed tears when I shook hands with
them previous to being hand-cuffed to the officer.
I didn't have to appear as a witness against these men,
as they confessed to the train hold-up after they were
convinced that Shores had a "cinch" lease against them.
They were each sentenced to a term of seven years in the
Colorado penitentiary.
This was the beginning of a lasting and warm friend
ship between C. W. Shores, his lovely wife, two bright
sons and me.
Soon after my return home, a "Frenzied Finance"
cyclone of small calibre struck our Agency in Denver
and knocked Superintendent A. sky high. Mr. W. L.
Dickenson came out from Chicago and discharged him
and all his pets. Mr. Dickenson had at last discovered
that his Agency was being robbed. Superintendent
A. had become so bold in his high finance that he
started a patrol system to furnish merchants and others
with private policemen. He did this on the sly and had
the bookkeeper Lawton as a partner. They were coin
ing money on the strength of the Agency's reputation.
A new set of employes were sent from the East, I being
the only one of the old "bunch" left. This swelled my
head, of course.
Mr. James McCartney, who had gained a world-wide
reputation through his good work in hanging twenty-
70 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
three miscreants, was made superintendent in A.'s stead.
McCartney had be«n sent to Denver a short time
previous to see how matters were working. His eagle
eye soon caught on to the true state of affairs, with the
above result. A patrol system to furnish uniformed
policemen was organized and Captain John Holmes was
imported from Chicago to take charge of it, under the
supervision of Mr. McCartney, and a nice young lady,
Miss Mollie Rucker, was sent from the east to act as chief
clerk and cashier; but a few yea'rs later Captain Holmes
nailed her to the matrimonial cross and we were minus
a pretty cashier. This caused the Dickensons to put a
veto on the fair sex as office employes in Denver. No
doubt they didn't like the idea of making a matrimonial
bureau out of the Agency. However, they gave the
newly wedded couple a good send-off by presenting them
with a fine set of bedroom furniture.
Shortly after McCartney took charge, I was sent to
Aspen, Colorado, on my first mining operation. It was
an ore-stealing case, and the parties were the Aspen
Mining & Smelting Company, J. B. Wellman being the
president and Fred Rucklan the general manager.
At that time Aspen was a booming silver mining camp.
I went to work in the mine as a common miner, although
I was green at the business. Of course, the foreman,
Fred Comb, and the shift-boss, Tom Qualle, knew my
business and overlooked my slow work while learning
to strike a drill. I hadn't been at work long when my
partner, who had taught me to mine, had both eyes blown
out and both hands blown off, besides suffering other
injuries. He had taken out his knife and was opening a
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 71
new box of caps when they exploded, with the above re
sults. He begged to be shot, and told me that he had no
desire to live in that condition; but he did live and was
sent to his mother somewhere in the East.
I came very near being killed myself while at work
in this mine. Qualle and I had started down a ladder
loo feet long. Qualle was ahead, while I followed. I
held the lighted candle and sharp pointed steel candle
stick in my right hand and in some way the sharp point of
the candlestick got stuck into the flesh under one eye.
The pain was so sudden that I turned loose the hold with
the left hand, but like a flash realized where I was and
grabbed a round of the ladder with my right hand and
thereby saved my life by a mere hair's breadth. Had I
fallen my body would have knocked Qualle off the ladder
and we would both have had a free ride of 70 to 80 feet
straight down.
After working a month I quit mining and joined
"Paddy Mack" and his gang of ore thieves.
Paddy McNamarra was the slickest ore thief that ever
did business in the West, and he bragged of how he
could tell a detective by his actions. He told me that
he had handled over one hundred thousand dollars' worth
of stolen ore in this camp alone, and that he had made a
fortune in Central City and Blackhawk in the same busi
ness. His main graft was handling ore stolen by the
miners and bosses of packtrains. He initiated me into
the mysteries of the ore stealing business and I soon be
came an expert.
In order to have a "cinch" case against "Paddy Mack"
and his gang, I would have Fred Rucklan and D. R. C.
72 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
White, the banker and wealthy mine owner, hide in
empty freight cars or upper-story rooms where they could
see the ore delivered to the samplers late in the night. In
that way the owners and foreman of the samplers would
be caught "dead to rights."
I shall never forget the cursing that "Paddy Mack"
gave me one night when I lighted a match and held it
close to his face so that Mr. Rucklan and his friends in
an upstairs window could see his countenance. He
knocked the match from my hand and gave me a strong
lecture and cursing about the danger of being seen if
any one were looking out of the windows upstairs. On
this occasion we were receiving stolen ore worth $10.00
a pound, and while we were taking it out of the tent and
loading it onto burros Mr. Rucklan and his witnesses,
who were watching us from an upstairs window, hurried
to the R. ore sampler and hid in empty freight cars so
as to see us deliver it to the sampler foreman.
Besides being a partner of "Paddy Mack" I was doing
business on the side with many other noted ore thieves.
One of these fellows had a false cellar under his house
and kept the stolen ore there until he got a wagonload.
He would then hire a wagon and team and deliver the ore
in broad daylight to the B. sampler. I once laid a trap
so that Mr. Rucklan and his friends were in hiding and
happened into the sampler in time to see the owner, Mr.
Bv receive the ore.
When the collapse came I was thrown into jail by
Sheriff White and his deputy, West Calvin, along with
others of the gang. Bonds were soon furnished by
"Paddy Mack" and others.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 73
While in jail I found out that Mike M , one of
my chums, intended to jump his bond and quit the
country, so I arranged with him to do likewise. He was
due to be out of jail a few days ahead of me, so it was
agreed that should he skip out before I was liberated,
he would write to me, General Delivery, Kansas City,
Mo., telling where he could be found. He said he would
first go to Omaha, Nebraska, where he had friends in
the stone yards, he being a stonecutter by trade.
By the time my bonds arrived through the bank, Mike
M. had shaken the dust of Aspen from his feet, so I then
went on his trail. In the search for him I was assisted
by one of our operatives, John S. Kaiser, later the super
intendent of the Denver office. We searched the stone
quarries and yards of Omaha and Lincoln, Nebraska, and
Kansas City, Missouri without success. Finally I re
ceived a letter in Kansas City telling me to meet him in a
small town in Oklahoma. This was the finish of poor
Mike M. He was landed back in the Aspen jail.
When the case came up for trial, a start was made on a
fellow by the name of E. In his case I was not required
to show my hand by going on the stand, as he had been
caught with the stolen ore, en route to Denver, on the
train. We had a "cinch" case against him, but the jury
hung and his case was put off to the next term of court.
We found the gang had too many friends and too much
influence to ever convict any of them. Therefore the
cases against the small thieves were continued to the next
term of court, which ended the matter. The big fellows,
— the owners of the two sampling works where the stolen
ore was sold, were let go free with the understanding
that they sell out and quit the country.
74 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Poor "Paddy Mack" died from a broken heart soon
after being arrested.
Thus one of the worst gangs of ore thieves in the
West was put out of business in Aspen, though I met
some of them in Cripple Creek and other places in later
years, following the same line of business, and prospering.
My next operation out of Denver was "testing" rail
road conductors on a great western railway system
through the States of Colorado, Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa
and Missouri. This kind of work was not to my liking,
though I had an opportunity of seeing the country and
learning new points in human nature.
There were about a dozen of us operatives on this
work.
In Beatrice, Nebraska, on this operation, I made the
acquaintance of Gen. Colby and saw his noted stallion,
Lindentree, presented to Gen. U. S. Grant by the Sultan
of Turkey. Seeing this horse was a treat, as I had never
before seen so much horse wrapped in such a small hide.
My next big operation started soon after returning to
Denver from the railroad "test case," our client being
the Lord Mayor of London, England, through his Agent
Mr. McDermott of New York City. His royal Tghness,
the Lord Mayor, had bought a gold brick by paying
$190,000.00 in cash for the Mudsill Silver Mine at Fair-
play, Park County, Colorado, and in addition to the cash
payment, he had contracted to build a $40,000.00 ore-
treating plant on the ground and to give the sellers Dan
V. and Matches, $75,000 worth of stock in a new
company to be organized under the title of the Mudsill
Mining & Milling Co, Before making the deal his 'Igh-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 75
ness had employed McDermott, a noted mining expert
of New York City to examine the property. McDermott
reported 30,000 tons of ore in sight, worth $30 per ton.
To make sure, before loosening his grip on the dollars
of his forefathers, the Lord Mayor sent another mining
expert from London to examine the property. In the
meantime Mr. Dan V. remained in London with the palms
of his hands itching for the cash that would be his if his
trusted lieutenant in Fairplay, whom we will call Jacky,
did his duty.
The London expert made a more favorable report than
McDermott. Then the contracts were signed and the
cash turned over to Dan V. who "hiked" back to America.
Soon a contract was let to Parson & Ayllmers, the lead
ing mill men of the United States, for a $40,000 mill to
be put up on the Mudsill property. After the mill
foundation had been completed, but before the ma
chinery had been shipped from the factory, Mr.
McDermott of New York had discovered a certain kind
of silver in the Mudsill ore samples, which was foreign
to that class of ore. This looked suspicious, and to pro
tect his reputation, McDermott cabled his discovery to
the Lord Mayor. His 'Ighness then cabled to McDer
mott to employ the Dickenson Agency to investigate the
matter.
Superintendent James McCartney received a letter from
our head office in New York to put one of his best men
on this case, as it was an operation of great importance.
I was called into Mr. McCartney's private office and
shown the correspondence on the subject. I was told
of the importance of not making a mistake on the opera-
76 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
tion, as it might mean the cancelling of the Parson &
Ayllmers' mill contract on the Mudsill. He explained
that Mr. Ayllmers of that firm was one of the Dickenson
family, he having married a daughter of Anson Dickenson.
After being detailed on the case I kissed Mamie and
Viola good-by and started for Fairplay, high up in the
mountains, on the eastern slope of the main continental
divide.
In Fairplay two tough dance-halls were running, and
night was turned into day by the tough element. Of
course, I joined them, as I was to play the part of a Texas
outlaw.
Soon after my arrival I ran on to an old cowboy chum
whom I had not seen since I was a boy in southern
Texas, about the year 1875. His name was Pete
Stewart and he was proprietor of a saloon in Fairplay
and one in Alma. Up to within a short time of the
closing of the operation, Stewart supposed that I had
really become a tough character, therefore he kept my
true name a secret. I had adopted the name of Charles
Leon.
In a natural way I learned that Jacky had been Dan
V's right-hand man at the Mudsill mine before the sale
of that property; therefore my plans were laid to win
the friendship of Jacky.
One day I saw Jacky wrestling with a wild bronco, but
he was afraid to mount him. Here was my chance; so
stepping up, I inquired if my services were needed.
Taking hold of the rope I volunteered to take the wire
edge off the bronco for him. He was a wiry Texas
four-year-old, and he gave me a ride, as he bucked
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 77
pretty hard at times. Even after I had taken off the wire
edge, Jacky was afraid to mount him, as he still had a
lame leg caused by the fall from the horse. The result
was, that I promised to break the bronco gentle for Jacky,
and that night he and I got on a glorious drunk to
gether. We wore pistols strapped to our waists and ran
the dance halls to suit ourselves. Jacky told his friends
that I was a bad man from Texas, as I had given him a
hint that I had to leave the Lone Star State for a killing.
After midnight a drunken gang tried to run things.
One big fellow pulled a knife on a friend of Jacky 's.
Just then I struck the fellow over the head with old Colt's
45 and knocked him down. Then one of the fellow's
friends knocked me to my knees with his fist, at the same
time drawing his pistol; but in a jiffy my cocked pistol
was in the man's face and I ordered him to put up his
gun and leave the hall. This he did, and his gang soon
followed. Then Jacky and I were heroes of the ball and
the "girls" patted us on the back. But about half an
hour later one of the "girls" from the other dance hall
came running over to warn Jacky and me that the gang
had blood in their eyes and had gone after reinforcements
and more ammunition and were coming back to teach us a
lesson. By main force the eight or nine "girls" pushed
Jacky and me into a wine room and locked us in. Jacky
was pretty drunk. I was playing drunker than I really
was, and in truth I was glad the "girls" kept us prisoners
in the wine room, though I pretended to be dying to get
out to fight a battle.
The gang returned well armed and were told by the
"girls" that we had gone to bed. They soon left, and
78 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
when daylight came Jacky and I went to bed together.
He and I were now bosom friends, and ever afterwards
in Fairplay, I was regarded as a dangerous man to
"monkey" with.
Every night Jacky and I spent our time at the dance
halls drinking and dancing. Both of us spent money
freely and were favorites with the "girls."
Jacky told me some of his experiences with the noted
salter of mines, "Chicken Bill," in the early days of Lead-
ville, and he told me enough to convince me that he had
help "salt" the Mudsill mine for Dan V.
In my report I advised that work stop on the new mill,
as the Mudsill mine was a fake. Soon the contract with
Parson & Ayllmers for the building of the mill was
cancelled and work ceased.
Finally I slipped into Denver and met Mr. McDermott
of New York City. He gave instructions, after hearing
my story, that we get at the bottom of the salting of the
Mudsill, regardless of expense, so that the Lord Mayor
could get his money back, through the courts.
I then returned to Fairplay and spent money freely.
I had explained to Jacky confidentially, that my father
in Texas was well-to-do and furnished me all the money
that I needed ; so Jacky and I made "Rome howl" every
night at the dance halls. Jacky had considerable money
of his own, and he spent it freely.
Shortly, I secured a partial confession from Jacky as
to how he and his partner Andy, had spent three years
salting the Mudsill mine; that they had kept the tunnel
locked during this time, and not even their best friends
were allowed to enter.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 79
To help me out in my work the Mudsill Company ad
vertised for bids to drive a 7o-foot upraise from the
lower workings in the mine. It was thought by Mr.
McDermott that good ore might possibly be struck in
this upraise. Jacky and I put in separate bids on this con
tract. Neither knew what the other's bid was, although
Jacky had advised me of the lowest limit that it was safe
to bid. He knew how difficult the blue limestone rock
was to break down. Through manipulation in our Denver
office my bid of $9 per foot proved the lowest, so I was
awarded the contract. I made Jacky my foreman and
John C. was appointed my shift-boss. Supplies were
hauled to the Mudsill, eight miles up Horseshoe Gulch,
and a force of men put to work. Jacky and I had rooms
in town and rode to the mine on horseback. We couldn't
do justice to the dance halls and liquor by living at the
mine. In order to recuperate we would often remain
several nights at the mine.
In the course of a few months, by the time my con
tract was finished, I had got a full confession from
Jacky. He and I had also become partners in a mining
claim which we located up in Mosquito Gulch. We went
up there and camped out alone, and sunk the lo-foot
assessment shaft ourselves. This gave me a good oppor
tunity to work on Jacky.
A couple of years later, after I had forgotten that I
owned a half interest in this claim, I sold it for $100
through the mail. Of course this money was pure velvet
for the lining of my own pocket.
From Jacky I received all the particulars connected
with the salting of the Mudsill mine, and the fixing up
80 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
of the 9-foot vein out of the short-line, a decomposed
lime rocjc which lay below and on top of the ^p-inch ore-
vein.
Jacky also told of how the Mudsill had been salted once
before, and sold by Dan V. to a Cincinnati, Ohio, Jew
for $90,000 and that later Dan V. bought the mine back
for $8,000.
After being in Fairplay quite awhile, I sent for Mamie
and Viola, so they could enjoy the cool mountain summer
weather. My friend "Doc" Lockridge, who owned a
pay-mine near Alma, lived in the leading hotel of that
town, hence it was arranged that Mamie should go there
as his "niece" from Kansas. I had been to Alma to
arrange matters. It was agreed that Mamie was to call
him uncle, and she was to be introduced as a widow
whose husband had died a couple of years previous.
I had only met "Doc" a few times in Denver, but his
dead brother, Bill Lockridge, had been a warm cowboy
friend of mine in the Indian Territory and Kansas. Be
fore Bill's death "Doc" and I first met at his home in
Denver.
I will here digress so as to record a small section of
cattle history and at tne same time give Ex-President
Grover Cleveland and his well developed stubborn bump
their just dues.
It was about the year 1884. A crowd of cattlemen of
the Indian Territory, through fraud in bribing a few
Indian Chiefs, secured a ten year lease on the western
part of the Cheyenne Indian Reservation.
During that spring, Bill Lockridge and the other
lessees turned large numbers of steers onto the Cheyenne
MAMIE AND VIOLA.:
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 81
Reservation to fatten for the fall market. President
Cleveland got upon his high horse, and sent Lieutenant
Sheridan of the United States Army out to investigate.
Gen. Phil Sheridan also came out in connection witft the
case — he being a brother to Lieutenant Sheridan; and
in the then wild and wooly cattle town of Caldwell,
Kansas, I met the old General. He had his picture taken
in a group with some of his old soldier friends, and I
still retain one of the original copies as a relic.
When Lieutenant Sheridan sent in his report, President
Cleveland issued a proclamation giving the cattlemen just
forty days to vacate the Cheyenne Reservation.
The cattlemen had a special meeting in Caldwell and
raised $100,000 in cash to bribe the President to extend
the time to eighty days, which would give the steers time
to fatten before having to move them. A committee of
five was sent to Washington to work on the President,
Bill Lockridge being one of them. On reaching the White
House and being seated in the reception hall, the Presi
dent gave orders through his lackey-boy, that the com
mittee appoint one of their number to come into the
Blue room to meet him. As Bill Lockridge was a good
Southern Democrat, and as he was a chip from the noted
Lockridge family of Revolutionary days, he was selected
to do the bribe act.
On returning to Caldwell, Bill Lockridge had to tell
me how he got turned down in the White House by a
man who pretended to be a good Democrat. Here is
Bill's own story in substance:
"The old devil shook my hand and said he was glad
to see me. He then asked if I were related to the Lock-
6
82 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ridges of Virginia, and it turned out that he knew my
grandfather. After we had a pleasant chat, he asked
what he could do for me. I explained the situation, tell
ing him how it would ruin us to get our steers out of the
Reservation in forty days. I told him that we had one
hundred thousand dollars in cash to give him if he would
extend the time to eighty days. He smiled, and getting
up on his feet said : 'Well, Mr. Lockridge, how long did
it take you to come here ?' I told him we were five days
coming. He then said : 'Well, it will take you that long
to get back, so you are losing valuable time. Good-by
Mr. Lockridge.' He had the gall to reach out his hand
to bid me good-by, but d him, I just gave him a
contemptible look and walked out, and you can bet it
will be a cold day when I vote the Democratic ticket
again."
Now, this just shows one phase of human nature. As
a man Bill Lockridge was a prince, and honorable in all
his dealings.
It was Sunday morning when I rode the seven miles
on horseback to Alma from Fairplay. My excuse for
going to Alma was to visit my old cowboy friend Pete
Stewart, who conducted a saloon there.
I met "Doc" Lockridge in Stewart's saloon and he
invited me up to the hotel to take dinner with him. In
the ladies' parlor in the presence of other guests, "Doc"
introduced me to his pretty young "niece" from Kansas.
Little Viola had been left in the room for fear that she
might call me papa. At the dinner table Viola did call
me papa once, but it was after most of the guests had left
the table. We finally got her trained to call me Mr.
Leon.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 83
That night I retired with "Doc" to his room, but I
couldn't sleep, so got up to get some fresh air, and to do
a little skirmishing like a thief in the night. It is cer
tainly a funny business which makes it necessary for a
man to tip-toe through a dark hall to his own wife's bed
room. But, gee whiz! what a scandal would have been
raised had I been caught going into this "young widow's"
room.
My trips to Alma became frequent, and it was soon
noised about that I was in love with "Doc's" niece. Then
the landlady of the hotel and other lady guests, who had
become attached to Mamie, aired my reputation as one
of the worst toughs and dance-hall loafers of Fairplay
and advised her not to associate with me. Some of the
men who were "stuck" on the "young widow" had told
of my doings in Fairplay. They tried to "knock" me
with their little "hammers," but it didn't work.
For the next few weeks I led a double life, — about four
nights of each week I was carousing with Jacky and the
dance-hall "girls," and the balance of the time I was
doing the tip-toe act and playing myself off as a re
spectable gentleman.
No doubt, dear reader, you think this was a rank in
justice to poor, pure-hearted Mamie; and so it was, but
she had confidence in me and sanctioned it, so long as it
was part of my business.
After about eight months I wound up the Mudsill
operation. Towards the last I was suspected by Dan V.
of being a detective for the Mudsill Company, and one
night when he, Pete Stewart and I were on a tear in Fair-
play, he tried to raise a row with me, but I held my
temper and laughed at his threats and insinuations.
84 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Soon after my return to Denver, Supt. James McCart
ney took up the work and I dropped out of the game.
The first thing that "yours, etc." did was to decoy
Jacky to Denver and have him brought into the private
office. There poor Jacky was confronted with his own
photo, taken in stripes at the Nebraska Penitentiary under
the name of Jack Allen, years before. Jacky was
stunned; so I was told. He had confided in me and
showed me the ugly gunshot wound in his hip, received
while leading a wild, reckless life in Dakota and Nebraska
under the name of Jack Allen. He also told of serving
a term in the "pen" at Lincoln, Nebraska, giving me the
number of his cell, etc., so it was an easy matter for
McCartney to secure a copy of his photo and his prison
record. Those were used as a lever to make him confess,
as he didn't want his identify known among his friends
in Fairplay; hence he made a full confession to Mr.
McCartney.
All of Dan V.'s property was attached and so was the
property of Mr. Matches, an officer of Bay City, Mich.,
he being Dan V.'s partner and financial backer.
The case was tried in the United States Court and was
passed on by the Circuit Court of the United States
in our favor.
The Lord Mayor of London, so I was told by Mr.
McCartney, recovered $150,000 of his loss.
Years later, my friend, Attorney W. T. Skoll of Spo
kane, Washington, showed me the new volume of the
Federal Reporter, Vol. 61, p. 163, containing the de
cisions rendered on the Mudsill mine-salting case, and
Mr. Skoll informed me that this was the only mine-salting
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 85
case ever passed on by the Circuit Judges of the United
States.
Thus did the Mudsill mine-salting operation end, and
become part of our law history to be used as a precedent
in future mine-salting cases.
After a month spent in Denver doing all kinds of work,
from robbery cases to hiding in ash-pits in order to catch
people stealing, I was sent to Longmont, Colorado, on
an important operation.
In Helena, Montana, a young man by the name of
Wraxhall had got into a "scrape" with a wealthy man of
that section.
In the fight which followed, the wealthy man was
badly wounded and now lay at the point of death. In
case he recovered, nothing was to be done with Wraxhall,
so as to prevent a scandal. But in case of death, then
he was to be prosecuted.
The officers of Montana had lost trail of young
Wraxhall and had turned the case over to us to locate
him, so that he would not become suspicious. He was
not to be arrested until his victim died.
It was thought that he might be in hiding at his brother
Frank's ranch, a couple of miles out of Longmont. I
was detailed on the case and left Denver dressed as a
tramp cowboy. I carried a description and photo of
young Wraxhall in my pocket.
I walked out from Longmont to the Frank Wraxhall
ranch, arriving there just at noon. Hoping to get a
peep into the home, I rang the bell at the front door of
the nice white residence. A lady came to the door and I
told her I wished to see Mr. Frank Wraxhall. She said
86 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
he was eating his dinner, but that she would call him.
Instead of seating me in the nice parlor, Frank Wraxhall
conducted me out to the yard to hear my tale of woe.
I told him that my name was Charlie Le Roy and that
I was stranded in Longmont with not a cent to buy my
dinner; that I heard he had some wild horses to break
and I had come out to get a job to break a few for my
board until money could reach me from my home in
Texas. He said I could have a free dinner, so he con
ducted me to a dining-room built off from the kitchen,
where the hired men ate their meals. He agreed to talk
to me about the horse breaking after dinner.
About the time my dinner was finished, three men came
out of the house. I asked one of the cowboys who these
men were. He replied that they were all brothers. One
he said, was the Rev. Wraxhall, a minister of a swell
church on Capitol Hill in Denver, and another was
Oliver, just home from college, and the third was Frank,
the proprietor of this ranch. I asked if there were any
more brothers in the family. He replied yes, that there
was a brother in Montana, who was a little older than
Oliver.
Finally Frank called me to him in the yard and asked
if I could ride a wild bronco and stay with him if he
bucked. I told him that I was brought up in southern
Texas in the early days of the cattle business, and that
ought to be recommendation enough. He replied that it
wasn't, for he said he had been fooled in hiring riders
from Texas, just on their word. So, for that reason, he
kept an outlaw horse with which to test new riders. He
said if I could stick on that horse until he quit bucking,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 87
and whip him every jump, that I could have a job with
him as long as he raised horses on the ranch. I told him
to trot out his outlaw horse, and he then sent a cowboy
out in the big pasture to drive up the wild bunch. When
corralled, the outlaw was caught. He was a vicious, iron-
gray four-year old, and very strong. We put the saddle
on him. Then Frank told me I had to ride him in the
calf-pasture, a small tract of an acre in front of the
residence. This tract was enclosed with a high barbed
wire fence, and I protested that it was dangerous to ride
a wild horse in such a small lot enclosed with barbed
wire. He said the horse had never failed to throw every
man who ever mounted him, and he was sure he would
throw me too, and for that reason he didn't want to take
chances on the horse getting away with the saddle on.
No doubt, his main object was to give his brother in
hiding a chance to see a free exhibition without exposing
himself to view.
In front of the picket fence, surrounding the residence,
I held the blindfolded bronco. On the porch were three
ladies, also Oliver and the Rev. Mr. Wraxhall from
Denver. Frank stood near me at the front gate. Several
cowboys and the man cook were witnesses from another
place.
After mounting, and just as I reached forward to raise
the blind from the horse's eyes, I glanced toward the front
door and saw the head of a black-haired man peeping
around the door casing. So here was my man, thought
I, and I determined to get a better look at him while the
horse was bucking.
As soon as the blind was raised, I struck the bronco
88 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
with my quirt and he went straight up in the air and
changed ends before he hit the ground.
For the next twenty minutes I had to ride, and on one
occasion I had to throw one leg above the saddle to keep
from being cut by the wire fence.
Several times, as the horse bucked by the front gate, I
got a good look at my man and he looked just exactly like
the photo, and answered the description. In the excite
ment he stood among the ladies on the porch. All were
clapping their hands and cheering.
After the outlaw had worn himself out bucking, my
man had disappeared again, but my work was done. The
instructions had been to discontinue and return to Denver
as soon as I was positive that our man had been located.
When the horse was subdued, Frank Wraxhall asked
me to ride out in the big pasture and help drive up a
bunch of cattle, as he wanted all the meanness taken out
of the bronco while he was under control.
The cowboy and I returned with the cattle about night.
After eating supper I told Wraxhall that I was going to
town to see if .my money had arrived from Texas, as it
should have been there several days previous. He com
plimented me on my good riding and assured me work at
top wages, so long as I wished to say. He offered me
a horse to ride to town, but I insisted on walking.
That night my bones ached from the strenuous day's
work as a bronco "buster."
Next morning I boarded a train for Denver. On the
same train was the Rev. Mr. Wraxhall and his wife re
turning home, but I kept them from seeing me.
Other men were then put on the case to shadow the
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 89
depot in Longmont and also the Rev. Wraxhall's resi
dence, so that we would know if our man came to Denver
to visit his preacher brother, or left the country.
In the course of time the wounded man in Helena,
Montana, was out of danger, and then the operation was
discontinued.
Not long after this, Frank Wraxhall shot and killed
the noted prize-fighter Clow, in a Denver saloon, and
shortly after this, his father, General Wraxhall, a noted
pioneer of Colorado, died.
Since then I have lost track of the Wraxhalls.
Soon after finishing the Wraxhall case, I took my first
sleep in the "bull-pen" at the Denver city jail; and it is
rightly named the "bull-pen." That night it contained
about twenty of the worst specimens of humanity, both
black and white, that it was ever my misfortune to be
housed with in one small room. I envied my partner
operative, Blummer, who had been put alone in a ste'el
cage across the hall, as he was taken for a desperado,
owing to the fact that he had on two big pistols and a
bowie knife. I had slipped my pearl-handled pistol and
bowie knife to Blummer, thinking that he had a better
chance than I to get away from the city policemen who
had surrounded us. But he ran into the arms of a big
city "fly-cop," who took him to jail, and put him in the
steel cage, while poor me, not being armed, had to go
in with the drunken hobo bunch.
Blummer and I had been hiding in an ash-pit in a dark
alley to catch people stealing silk from the Daniels-
Fisher dry goods store. We were discovered and
arrested as suspicious characters. We were certainly a
90 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
tough looking pair, as we had put on the worst clothes
we could find. We had orders not to disclose our identity,
for fear that the policeman on that beat might be standing
in with the negro watchman who was suspected of
throwing the silk out of an upper story window to the
thieves in the alley below. They were caught a few
nights later.
Next morning Superintendent McCartney came down
to the jail and fixed matters with Chief of Police Henry
Grady and Lieutenant of Police James Hummer, and we
were liberated.
CHAPTER V
Two WEALTHY MINE-OWNERS OF TUSCARORA, NEVADA,
BLOWN UP WITH DYNAMITE — A CONFESSION SE
CURED AFTER NINE MONTHS OF STRENUOUS LIFE
IN NEVADA AND INDIAN TERRITORY.
During the month of August, 1889, Superintendent
McCartney called me into his private office where I was
introduced to Mr. Geo. Felling of the firm of Prinz &
Pelling, of Tuscarora, Nevada. I was given the outline
of a case on which I was detailed to work.
It was explained that Mr. C. W. Prinz and Mr. Geo.
Pelling were wealthy mine and mill owners, and that on
a certain night during the previous spring, dynamite had
been put under their residences and "touched off;" that
Mr. Pelling and his mattress went up through the roof
and landed right side up with care in the middle of the
street. He was still wrapped in the quilts and blankets,
and the shock put him out of business for awhile, but
otherwise he was not hurt.
Not so lucky was Mr. Prinz. He was badly used up,
but soon recovered. He, too, was blown out into the
street but not on a feather bed.
Knowing that they had an organized gang of desperate
enemies to deal with, they sent to San Francisco for two
of the best detectives who could be procured to ferret out
the criminals. Two detectives from a local detective
agency were sent to Tuscarora to work secretly. In ad-
91
92 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
dition, a large reward was offered through the news
papers, for evidence that would convict. Several months'
work by the detectives had failed to show up even a clue
as to who were the guilty parties, and the sleuths being
suspected, they were called home, their chances of success
being doubtful.
Then it was decided that Mr. Felling go to Denver and
consult with Mr. James McCartney, and if possible, get
a man who jcould do the work.
At that time the Dickenson Agency had no branch
office west of Denver.
Mr. Felling explained to me that I was undertaking a
ticklish job, as their enemies were on their guard and
watching for detectives.
I was instructed to take the Union Pacific Railway for
San Francisco, while Mr. Felling would go by a southern
route and stop off for a visit in southern California. I
was told to put up at the Palace Hotel in Frisco and re
main there until Mr. Felling arrived.
For the next few days my time was spent in selling our
furniture, and starting Mamie and little Viola off for
Springfield, Missouri, where my wife's father, H. Clay
Lloyd, and her step-mother lived. Poor Mamie's health
had begun to fail, and the doctors decided an operation
for pleurisy was necessary to save her life. Her father,
when he heard of it, begged that she be sent there to be
operated on by his family physician, one of the best in
the land.
After seeing my wife and baby off on an eastbound
train, I boarded a flyer for the extreme edge of the
Golden West. My trip would have been a treat, as I had
93
never been to California, if it had not been for the worry
of Mamie's illness and the fact that she had to undergo
an operation without my presence to comfort her.
In Frisco I put up at the Palace, the swell hotel of the
city. I was there a week before Mr. Felling arrived,
therefore had an opportunity to see all the sights, which
were new to me.
I was furnished with $250 expense money by Mr.
Felling, and he then departed for Tuscarora, Nevada. I
soon followed dressed in rough cowboy clothes.
At Elko, Nevada, I left the train and boarded a stage
for a fifty mile ride into the mountains. Phil. Snyder,
an old-timer of Tuscarora, and whose name had been
given to me by Mr. Felling as a possible friend to the
dynamiters who blew up Prinz's and Felling's homes, was
a fellow passenger on the stage, and I won his applause
and friendship by making a crack shot with my old Colt's
45 pistol.
We were sitting on the seat with the driver, when a
coyote jumped up about 100 yards distant. I made one
shot while the stage was on the move, and Mr. Coyote
quit business by tumbling over dead. It was an accidental
shot of course, but no one but myself knew it.
In Tuscarora, a lively mining camp, Snyder pointed
me out to his friends as a cowboy just from Texas, who
was a crack shot with a pistol. This gave me a standing
in the lower crust of society. Soon after my arrival, I
was out in the hills with Tim W., one of Prinz and
Felling's most bitter enemies. He told me that Snyder
and the stage driver had given me a big send-off as a
crack shot. He asked me to show him what I could do.
94 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
He pointed out a pine knot in a board on a fence about
50 yards distant, and asked me to hit that. Here was a
chance to make myself solid with one of Prinz and
Felling's enemies, providing I could make another acci
dental shot. It was worth trying, so I cut loose off-hand,
and out went the pine knot, which was the size of a silver
dollar. He begged me to try again at another mark, but
I had sense enough to let well enough alone. My reputa
tion was made and I decided to take no more chances.
In order to be away from town for awhile, I got per
mission from a butcher named Morrison, to live on his
ranch a few miles out. I bought a horse and saddle and
used to ride into town once in awhile.
Here was a new experience for me, living with a
Chinaman who could only talk a few words of English.
He and I were the sole occupants of the ranch except
when Mr. Morrison came out to butcher stock. Mr.
Pigtail and I sat at the same table, but ate different kinds
of food. He used a couple of chop-sticks to throw the
rice, etc., into his mouth. It would have been fun for a
man up a tree to look down and see us joking and trying
to talk to each other.
Finally, after I had become well established in the
mining camp, I moved into town, and soon after, I re
ceived a letter from Mr. C. W. Prinz requesting that I
meet him in an old abandoned mine about half a mile
from town on a certain night. A diagram of the incline-
shaft which I was to go down was enclosed in the letter.
He explained that he would go around through the main
workings of the mine so as not to be seen.
It was a dark night, but I found the mouth of the old
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 95
shaft from the description given in the letter. But to
descend into the bowels of the earth through a dark hole
5 by 7 feet, that I knew nothing about, required a lot of
fool courage, and therefore I was quite awhile getting
started. It was a great relief when I reached the bottom
of the rotten ladder which had not been used for several
years. The distance to the bottom was about 200 feet.
On the way down, pieces of rock became loosened and
rolled to the bottom, making a lonesome noise which sent
cold shivers down my back. The ladder was damp and
slippery and some of the rounds were missing. A walk
of a few hundred feet through a drift brought me to Mr.
Price, who had arrived on time. About midnight we
separated, each going the way we had come. On reach
ing daylight, I vowed never to meet another client in a
hole that I knew nothing about.
During the fall, Phil. Snyder and I went out into the
mountains to hunt deer and grouse, and we bagged some
of both. We were gone a week. On returning, I rode out
to "Wild Bill's" camp on Lone Mountain, a distance of
about twenty-five miles. I had previously made friends
with "Wild Bill" who was an enemy of Price and Pelling
and stood in with the gang who had blown them up.
"Wild Bill" was a genius when it came to working with
steel. He was a counterfeiter and made his own plates to
print counterfeit paper money. He made me a steel
candle-stick with half a dozen instruments combined,
which I still keep as a souvenir.
After this, I made many trips to "Wild Bill's" camp.
We lived on nice fat calf-meat which we would steal
from bands of range cattle.
96 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
From "Wild Bill" I learned some valuable pointers as
to who blew up Prinz and Felling. I finally selected Tim
W. as a good subject for me to work on to get a con
fession from. I made a confident of him and told him
that my father in Texas was rich and that I had got into
a killing scrape and had to skip out. I explained that
my father sent money to me through two friends, Smith
and Long, of Reno City, Oklahoma; that these friends
had money now of mine in their possession, but I didn't
want to take chances on having it sent direct to me at
Tuscarora, even though I was under an assumed name.
I was using the name of Chas. T. Leon.
Poor Tim W. bit at my bait and agreed that the money
could be sent to him and then he would hand it to me on
the sly. He promised to keep the matter secret, and he
did so. He felt honored at being trusted with my liberty
and money.
I then wrote to Superintendent McCartney and had
him send $150 to my friends Smith and Long in Reno
City, with instructions that they send it to Tim W. I
also wrote Mr. Smith a letter on the subject. In due
time a money order for $150 came to Tim W. through
the Post Office. He cashed the money order and handed
me the money. That night he and I got on a big
"hurrah" and I spent money freely with his friends who
were all enemies to our clients. After this, all the money
which I spent came through Tim W.
Tim was working as a miner for the Smith Bros, on
their rich gold mine. He would fill his pockets with
some of the rich ore worth about $10 a pound, on coming
off shift. Of course he made a confident of me as I had
trusted him.
'A COWBOY DETECTIVE 97
Tim had a sweetheart, a Mrs. B., who was a widow and
owned a small lodging house. He and I roomed in her
building, but we were not in the same class when it came
to burning midnight oil and basking in the sunshine of
her sweet smiles.
Late in the fall I put a hungry man on his feet by
helping him "salt" a mine.
One day I saw a man standing for hours in one place
without moving. His features showed worry. I stepped
up to him and invited him into a saloon to have a drink
with me, my object being to cheer him up. Turning
round and facing me he said :
"Partner, I would die before I would beg, but if you
will give me the price of my drink I will get something
to eat with it. That will do me more good than a drink."
He then informed me that his name was Harnihan, or
a name similar to that; that he had come from Angels
Camp, California, where he worked for the millionaire
mine-owner Lane; that he had paid his last dollar for a
stage-ride from the railroad and that he hadn't tasted
food since leaving Elko the morning before, and that he
had hoped to get work but had failed. I slipped a dollar
into his hand and told him to call for more when that
was gone. He thanked me kindly.
When a boy, I had read the Bible a little, and recalled
a passage therein about there being no harm to shear a
lamb for the benefit of mankind. I either read this in
the Bible or dreamed it. At any rate, I concluded to do
a little shearing act, so as to give Mr. Harnihan a lift in
the world, as he seemed to be a nice fellow with a proud
spirit.
98 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Morrison, the butcher, and his partner in the saloon
business, were selected as the lambs to be shorn.
I had never salted a mine, but had received valuable
lessons from Jacky in the Mudsill mine-salting case.
These two men owned a mining claim with a 3O-foot
hole in the ground, which they called a mine. I induced
them to give Harnihan a working bond on this mine.
Harnihan, who was a fine looking, healthy man, agreed
to follow any instructions that I might give. After work
ing in the shaft a short time, he asked Morrison to have
some of the ore assayed so as to see if it was improving.
Morrison agreed to go up and sample the vein next morn
ing and have an assay made of the ore. I gave Harni
han some of the rich ore which Tim W. had been steal
ing from the Smith mine, and told him to sprinkle it
moderately over the bottom of the shaft that night. I
had previously pulverized this ore into fine powder.
The next morning Morrison went to the mine in the
edge of town, with Harnihan. He took a sample from
the small vein in the bottom of the shaft and then re
turned to town. I made it my duty to watch Morrison
take the sample to the assay office, and I saw him go there
in the evening after the assay certificate. He came out
in an excited manner. I stepped into his saloon ahead
of him to watch proceedings. He called his partner into
one corner and showed him the assayer's certificate. It
would require too much space to record these men's
monkeyshines up to the time Harnihan came from work
at 5 P. M.
I met Harnihan and informed him that the lambs were
tied on the block, ready for the shearing, but advised him
not to accept their first offer.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 99
Morrison told Harnihan that the ore had improved just
a few dollars per ton. He offered to pay for what work
had been done on the mine at regular wages, and release
Harnihan from his interest, but Harnihan, as per my in
structions, told him that he would work another week
and then send a sample of the ore to Burlingame of
Denver, for a good test. This did the work. At 9 P. M.
Harnihan had $600 in gold in his pocket. He insisted on
my taking half of it, but I refused to accept "tainted"
money.
That night Harnihan got on a glorious drunk, and next
day I sold him my horse and saddle at a fancy price and
he "hit" the road for a lower altitude. I advised him to
cut across country for fear the cat might get out of the
bag; but it didn't for several days. Then the air was
blue with curse words for a whole month.
On riding away, Harnihan threw me a $20 gold piece
and told me to take a drink on him. I have never seen
or heard of him to this day. Thus the world moves and
we all act our little part on the big stage.
I found out from Morrison, between curse-words, that
the salted sample showed a value of $1,500 per ton of
ore, and that he supposed he was a millionaire; that the
sudden fall to poverty was what hurt the worst. He
never suspected me, and if he sees this the air will be
impregnated with oaths again.
On Christmas day I took my first sleigh ride, and for
a few minutes I was "going some."
The liveryman had just received a brand-new sleigh.
I hired it and a spirited team of horses and took Miss
Aggie Dougherty for a ride. We drove ten miles out
100 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
on the stage road and then turned back. The stage and
freight road was a mass of packed snow. On each side
the soft snow was from 5 to 10 feet deep. On one side
of the road about every hundred feet the stage company
had a willow stuck into the snow so that on a stormy
night the driver could keep on the road. One of these
slender poles was bending over and the team ran into
it. The end flew up and caught one of the horses in the
flank. Then there was "something doing," and we began
to "go some." If I had had the use of both hands the
team might have been stopped before they got under full
headway. My left arm was around the girl's waist, to
keep her from falling out, as the sleigh had no side
boards. Before my left arm could be disentangled and put
back in its proper place, the team of flying broncos made
a sharp turn off the road and went out of sight into the
deep snow. The sleigh naturally went over them, high
up in the air, upside down.
While standing on my head in the air, I could see my
old Colt's 45 pistol, which had been carried loose in my
hip pocket, flying through space. At this place the snow
was about 10 feet deep. I found poor little Aggie stand
ing on her head in a hole that she had made in the snow.
I had made a hole of my own, so it took me quite a while
to reach Aggie. By the time I got her on her feet into
the hard road the team was a couple of miles away, go
ing like lightning. They had floundered back into the
road.
In order to find my pistol I had to swim out to the small
hole where it had disappeared in the snow, and then do
some fancy diving.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 101
A three-mile walk brought us to where the team lay
tangled up in the harness. Both were on their sides. We
had passed pieces of the sleigh scattered all along the
road. Therefore, there wasn't much of it attached to the
team. After the pretty sorrels were on their feet, we
started for town afoot, leading them. They had never
been ridden, so we had to walk the five or six miles.
On reaching town a large crowd greeted us and made
me treat.
The liveryman let me off lightly, by only charging me
$50 for the half day's sleigh ride. He said the experi
ence was worth something to a beginner. I thought so
too, for in future, I vowed that side-boards would have
to be put on the sleigh to hold the girl in place before
it could be hired to Yours Truly.
The fact that I was out riding with an i8-year old girl
while my sick wife was just recovering from a successful
operation, may seem naughty to you, gentle reader, but
you must bear in mind that there are tricks in all pro
fessions but ours, and they are all tricks. The truth is,
I was working on old man Dougherty, and Aggie was
only a side-issue to win points in the game.
In the spring, Tim W. and I made preparation to leave
for the Wichita Mountains in the western part of the
Indian Territory, on a prospecting trip for gold. I had
told Tim wonderful stories of gold being found in these
mountains by soldiers and hunters.
I had concluded that the best way to get a confession
out of Tim would be to get him in a strange country
where he could talk with no one but myself.
When his gang found out that he was going to the
102 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Indian Territory with me, they became frightened for
fear I might be a detective. They had heard that Mr.
Prinz said he would spend $150,000 to find out who the
dynamiters of Tuscarora were. For several days and
nights previous to our start, the gang held secret meet
ings in Mason's drug store, trying to persuade Tim to
give me the "shake." They said it was positively known
that I was a detective, but Tim insisted on their pro
ducing the evidence.
Among the gang was a hard character by the name of
"Black Jack," and he made it hot for poor Tim. He
swore that he should not go. Mrs. B. also worked on
Tim to dissuade him. Finally, everything was ready for
an early start on the next morning's stage. That night
they held another secret meeting in Mason's drug store,
and Tim got very little sleep. As a last resort they told
Tim that they had positive evidence that all the money
which I had spent in Tuscarora came from Prinz and
Felling's agents in San Francisco, and that if he would
wait over another week they would produce my signature
to the receipts for the money received at different times.
Here's where the gang fell down. Tim told them that
they were d d liars, but he wouldn't tell them how he
knew. He told me all about their meetings later, when
we were on the road.
Next morning we boarded the stage for Elko, and most
of the gang were at the Post Office to see us off, and to
make one last effort to change Tim's mind. The faces
of some of the gang appeared pale and care-worn, and
"Black Jack" looked daggers at me.
The whip was cracked and away we went.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 103
i
In Elko, Tim and I boarded a train for Denver,
Colorado. We kept the sleeping car porter busy furnish
ing us with drinks while en route.
Tim's wealth consisted of $600 in cash and several
hundred dollars worth of rich ore that he had stolen
from the Smith Brothers' mine, which he had taken along
to sell in Denver.
A few days were spent in Denver, where I was under
a strain for fear of meeting some one who might call me
by my own name in the presence of Tim. I was indeed
glad when we boarded the Denver & Fort Worth train
for Wichita Falls, Texas.
In Wichita Falls I went to see my old friends Charlie
Word, Liash Stephens and Tom Jones, cattle men, to
tell them of my new name, and to caution them so they
wouldn't address me by my own name where Tim W.
might hear it.
About ten years previous I had "bossed" a large herd
of long-horned cattle "up the Chisholm trail," from
southwestern Texas, for Charlie Word.
On my arrival at Wichita Falls I left Tim at the hotel
while I went to spend the evening until bed time with
Mr. Word and his family. I had last seen Mrs. Word
in San Antonio, Texas, in 1879, when she was a beautiful
black-haired young woman with a first-born in her arms.
Now this first-born was almost a young lady.
Word and I sat up late "harking back" to the days of
big herds on the "Chisholm trail" between southern
Texas and Kansas.
In the Word herd which I had charge of there were
about 3000 head of cattle with about ten cowboys, and
104 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
five horses to the man, and last, but not least, a cook to
dish up the "grub" and drive the "grub-wagon."
In "harking back" I thought of my first pistol duel,
which died before it was fought, but its dying was no
fault of mine or my opponent's, a hot-headed Southerner
by the name of Best, who was one of the cowboys.
He had loaned Mr. Word some money to buy cattle,
and had agreed to make a "hand," that is, do full duty
at regular wages on the trail. When passing Fort Worth,
Word, who had come around by rail on his way to
Kansas, stopped off to see how we were getting along.
He drove out in a buggy to where we were to stop over
night. On his arrival Best and I had a fuss over the way
I made him do the full work of a cowboy all the way "up
the trail." In the threats which followed I told Best to
get his pistol and we would shoot it out. He brooded
over the matter for an hour or so and finally told Word
that he or I had to die before the sun went down. Word
tried to reason with him, but it was no use. He was
mad and meant it. He insisted that Word notify me that
if I didn't agree to fight a regular duel that he intended
to kill me any way before the sun set. Word notified me
and it was agreed that I wait until the sun was setting
and then stand back to back and walk forward ten paces,
and wheel and fire, until one or both were dead. We
both began cleaning our pistols, as the sun was only an
hour high. Word put in his time trying to persuade us
to shake hands and call the duel off, but the stubborn
bump, which the phrenologist in Caldwell, Kansas, said
was like a mule's, prevented me from backing out. I
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 105
hoped though, that Best would "crawfish/' that is, back
out, for I didn't want to die, even a "little bit."
When the sun looked to be only a few inches above
the horizon, I imagined that I could feel myself growing
pale behind the ears, but "praise the Lord," here came
Word from behind the wagon where Best was sitting on
a pile of bedding, with the good news that Best had
agreed to shake hands with me and do his duty the bal
ance of the way up the trail. Thus Mr. Word had won
a bloodless battle.
Two days later Tim and I had bought a horse each,
and started northeast for the Wichita Mountains, a dis
tance of two days' ride. We crossed Red River at the
Burnett ranch and were then in the Indian Territory.
At night we camped on the plains, and the next evening
we struck the mountains and had an old Indian woman
cook a turkey gobbler which I had killed. She fried the
breast of the turkey and made a batch of bread for us.
The old dame's hands were black with dirt and she struck
them into the dough without washing them. We were
too hungry though, to make a kick.
From here we went to Quanah Parker's camp on the
head of West Cache Creek. Quanah Parker was a big
chief of the 7,000 Comanche Indians scattered around the
borders of the Wichita Mountains. They don't like to
live in the mountains, therefore pitch their camps on the
edge next to the plains. Quanah Parker is half white,
he being the child of Cynthia Ann Parker, the white girl
stolen in Texas by the Comanches before the war. He is
over six feet tall and sports a mustache which can be
seen with the naked eye. At this mustache he keeps tug-
106 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ging, when talking in broken English with his white
brothers.
Tim and I rode through the Wichita Mountains to
Anadarko, the Indian Agent's headquarters. I made a
confident of Indian Agent C. E. Adams, and he gave me
a pass so that Tim and I could stay on the Reservation
outside the mountains. He could not give me a permit
to go into the mountains, as there -was supposed to be
gold in there and white men were kept out by the Indian
Police.
From Anadarko, Tim and I rode to Fort Sill, the army
post on the east side of Wichita Mountains, where we
went to lay in such supplies as could be carried behind
our saddles as we had no pack-horse.
For the next month Tim and I led a strenuous life in
the mountains, dodging the Indian Police who were try
ing to capture us, but our horses were too swift. We
would camp on the highest peaks from whence we could
watch them hunting us. We had a fine time killing
game. Turkeys were as plentiful as fowl around a
Kansas barnyard. We could lie in bed any morning and
kill a gobbler for breakfast. They were not killed by the
Indians, as they regard them as evil spirits.
Tim and I named some of the highest peaks. One in
the western part of the range was named after me. We
called it Mt. Leon, and up on its highest point we planted
an elk horn, around which was wrapped a copy of the
Tuscarora, Nevada, daily paper, also a slip with our
names and the new name of the peak on it. I often
wonder if these elk horns have been found since the
opening of these mountains to white settlers.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 107
On two occasions I left Tim in the mountains while I
rode the 25 miles to Fort Sill after "grub," and our mail.
Poor Tim never received any of the many letters sent to
him by his friends and sweetheart, for I started a little
post office of my own and placed them in a pigeon-hole
under a rock.
The letters sent by Tim to be mailed by me were treated
likewise. Most of the letters warned Tim to "shake" me
and come home, as they had positive information that I
was a Dickenson detective.
On my second trip into Fort Sill I found Tim's sweet
heart Mrs. B., there, but she didn't get to see me. She
had dropped about half a dozen letters in the post office
telling Tim of her arrival to save him from the clutches
of that Dickenson detective, Leon. I felt sorry for the
poor woman, but all I could do was to shed a silent tear
over her pathetic letters.
After this when we needed "grub," I took Tim with
me and we rode to the little town of Navajo, Texas,
across the north fork of Red River in Greer County.
At one time old Quanah Parker had deputy United
States marshals searching for us.
We failed to find a gold mine, and as I had got a full
confession from Tim about the blowing up of Price and
Pelling, we shook the dust of the mountains from our
feet and landed in Union City, Oklahoma, a boom town
on the South Canadian.
Finally, Tim and I arrived in the booming town of El
Reno. We put up at the Stanley livery stable. Here
young Todd, whom I knew in Caldwell, Kansas, a few
years before, asked if my name was not Charlie Siringo.
108 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
When I told him no, he replied: "Well you look like
Charlie, all right enough." Tim was present when the
question was asked.
We picked up our "warbags" and started up town,
walking in the center of the main street. Before reaching
the hotel a large man standing with a group of men in
front of a saloon yelled out at the top of his voice:
"Well I'll be d d, if there ain't Charlie Siringo!" He
then started across from an opposite corner to meet us.
As he approached he held out his hand, saying: "Well,
Charlie Siringo, what in the h 1 are you doing here?"
By this time he was facing me, but I didn't put out my
hand. I said : "I reckon you are mistaken, partner." He
replied : "Not by a d d sight, Charlie. I would know
your hide in a tan yard in h 1." Still I didn't put out
my hand, and pretending to be mad I said : "Well, I must
say you've got your gall whoever you are. I tell you
that's not my name." He replied in a contemptuous man
ner: "May be it ain't by ." Then he wheeled
around and went back to the crowd.
I knew him well, though I hadn't seen him for many
years. He and I used to be cowboys together in Texas.
I remembered his name then, but it has slipped my
memory now. I was sorry for the poor fellow, as no
doubt his companions gave him the laugh at the way he
got "turned down" by me. Tim remarked that he be
lieved the fellow really thought he knew me.
That night after Tim and I had gone to bed, I got up
under the pretense of going to a saloon to get a drink,
and went in search of my cowboy friend so as to explain
matters to him. He was found at a dance, and when I
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 109
explained the situation we shook hands and talked of old
times. He was then in the butcher business.
Next day El Reno was lively, as the Rock Island Rail
way had just arrived there and it was the first anniversary
of the opening of the Oklahoma Territory to white settle
ment. Oklahoma being just one year old that day, the
whole Territory turned itself loose to celebrate. Tim and
I did our share.
In El Reno I traded a lot there, which I owned, for a
two-year-old race filly named Lulu Edson. She had
lately won a big race ; but she proved to be a costly piece
of horse-flesh, as I heard the lot sold for $5000 a few
years later. I had the consolation though of owning a
two-year-old that could run a quarter of a mile in 22l/2
seconds, almost world-record time.
In order to get Tim back to Denver before making the
arrest, so as to keep it out of the newspapers, we started
on horse-back, using Lulu for a pack animal, a distance
of about 600 miles.
Just before entering the Cherokee strip, we camped
one day for dinner. While eating, an Oklahoma settler
came galloping up on a black mare bareback. He recog
nized me and jumping off the horse, he said: "Hello,
Charlie Siringo, what are you doing here?" I got up
and shook hands with him, as we needed some pointers
about the road, but I said: "You are the third crazy
Oklahoma boomer who has called me that name, so I am
beginning to think that I look like him. He replied:
"Why Charlie, you can't fool me. I would know your
hide in a tan-yard." He insisted so persistently, that I
had to make him mad. He finally mounted his old nag
110 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and galloped off cursing. He and I had run cattle to
gether in Texas, years before, and I knew him well, but
I forget his name now.
That night we put up at a big cattle ranch in the
Cherokee strip or outlet. There were about twenty cow
boys present. The next morning it was raining hard and
we concluded to lay over a day. As Lulu was tender-
footed I rode her back into Oklahoma, five miles, to get
her shod.
After I had left, a man with two pistols buckled around
his waist called Tim to one side and said: "Partner did
you ever commit a crime?" Tim asked why, and he re
plied: "Well if you did, you had better shake that
Dickenson detective you are traveling with. That's
Charlie Siringo and he's after some one down here." Tim
told the fellow that he must be mistaken. He replied:
"All right, go ahead if you think so; but my advice to
you if you have done anything, is to hit the road and hit
her hard, before he gets back." The fellow then got on
his own horse and pulled out. He had just dropped in
to eat breakfast before I had left, and he recognized me.
On my return the cowboys told of the noted outlaw
"Six Shooter Bill" being there for breakfast. They said
there were big rewards for him, dead or alive. He had
evidently not told any one but Tim, who I was.
Tim was sour and apparently worried for the next few
days, but I never surmised the cause until he told of it
after his arrest. He said he felt like killing me and skip
ping out, as he had already made a confession to me, but
he didn't believe I was a detective.
On our arrival in Denver, after a hard ride, and before
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
we had time to wash and eat, Tim was arrested by Supt.
James McCartney. He was taken to our office and there
confronted by Mr. W. C. Prinz who had come all the
way from Nevada to be at the wind-up. Poor Tim broke
down, and before a Notary Public he made a full con
fession, implicating all who had a hand in the blowing up
of Prinz and Pelling.
After getting his sworn confession down in writing
and his signature to it, he was turned over to me to keep
under guard until Mr. Prinz could get back to Nevada
and have the leaders arrested. But we heard they had
flown before the arrest could be made. It was reported
that "Black Jack" had skipped for South Africa. I lost
track of the case and never heard how the matter ter
minated.
Tim W. had promised to testify in court when the time
came, under agreement that he be not put in jail. We
had faith in him keeping his promise. I guarded Tim
a week or so in order to give Mr. Prinz time to reach
Tuscarora and swear out warrants. Then Tim was
turned loose and he went back to his grass widow, Mrs.
B., to repent in sackcloth and ashes for the letters "which
never came," after he had promised so faithfully to write
often. I never learned how long poor Mrs. B. remained
in Fort Sill nursing her grieving heart. Hers was a case
of sitting on the anxious seat with a vengeance, but such
is often the penalty of blind love.
Just two days after our return to Denver, I took Lulu
Edson out to the Overland Park where the big races were
going on. I hobbled her two front feet with a piece of
new rope so that she could hobble around and eat green
112 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
grass. I hired a negro to watch her, but when the first
race started she saw them and joined in the run, she be
ing on the outside of the fence. In crossing a muddy
slough, she went up to her ears in black mud, so that she
was a black horse with a sorrel head. When half way
around the mile track she jumped the five-foot fence and
led the bunch of trotting horses past the wire. Her
hobble had broken before she jumped the fence. She
trotted up to the grand stand where sat many thousands
of Denver's elite, and whinnied. The people cheered, for
most of them saw her jump the high fence. I was in
the grand stand, but at first, didn't know her, as she was
black.
This was Lulu's last race, as I wouldn't trust her to
others, and I was leading too strenuous a life to race her
myself. I still own three of her colts. She died at my
expense fifteen years after falling into my hands.
Thus ended the Prinz and Felling operation so far as
I was concerned. It was May, 1890, when Tim and I
arrived in Denver. I had been on the operation nine
months.
In his confession Tim told how the fuses were cut the
same length and touched off at the same time so that
the two wealthy mine-owners would go up in the air and
sprout angel-wings at the same time, their homes being
a block or two apart. Many men were connected with
the plot and for this reason Tim was set free after the
sworn affidavits were made.
Mr. C. W. Prinz, the last account I had of him, was
a prosperous mining man of San Francisco with offices
on Pine street. He and Felling sold out their interests
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 113
in Tuscarora, Nevada. Mr. Felling I heard, had married
millionaire Cox's daughter of Sacramento, California,
and was now soaring high in society ; quite a change from
the time he soared high in the air through the roof of a
house, with dynamite instead of $'s as the lifting power.
CHAPTER VI
SHOOTING OF ANCHETA — I JOIN THE "WHITE CAPS" OF
NEW MEXICO — TAKEN DOWN WITH SMALL
POX AND GIVEN UP TO DIE.
After getting rid of Tim W., we furnished a new
home and started to housekeeping again. Mamie and
little Viola had returned from Springfield, Missouri, but
the doctors had little hope of saving my wife's life, as
both 'lungs had become affected.
Owing to the sickness in my family, I was not sent
out of the city on long operations.
During the fall my stubborn bump and quick temper
came very near landing me in the penitentiary. It shows
how a man's whole life can be changed by a mere hair's
breadth. Gamblers call it luck, but I would call it chance.
Mamie was at death's door and I had been sitting up
with her night and day. It was Saturday, and I went
down to the office to draw my week's salary and to ask
Mr. McParland if I couldn't remain at Mamie's bedside
until she got better.
With the salary in my pocket, I started home by way
of Laramie street, so as to get old Colt's 45 out of "soak."
Being short of cash I had pawned the pistol for $20.00
to H. Solomon of the Rocky Mountain pawn shop, and in
its place I was carrying a small pistol belonging to
operative Frank McC.
Next door to the Rocky Mountain pawn shop a chem-
114
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 115
ical factory had blown up and it was reported that a dead
man was being brought out "by tne police and firemen.
The police had ropes stretched to keep the crowds back,
and a special policeman named Rease, was guarding the
front door of Solomon's pawn shop and wouldn't let any
one inside for fear a raid would be made on the valuable
diamonds in the window and show cases. Being refused
admittance, I stepped up on an iron railing to get a
better view of the dead man who was being brought out.
Just then young Solomon told me to get down and move
away from the front of their shop. I told him to go to
Hades or some other seaport. Then the big double-
jointed special policeman pulled me down and tore my
coat almost off. My gold-headed silk umbrella was
broken all to pieces over his head and when he reached
for his gun mine was pulled out of my hip pocket and
pointed at his heart and the trigger was pulled. While
using the umbrella on the fellow's head, other policemen
rushed at me. Just as the trigger was pulled, a police
man by the name of Ball, threw both arms around me
from the rear. His right hand grabbed the pistol and
the hammer came down on his thumb instead of the
cartridge, thus saving me the expense of a trip to the
penitentiary, for had he been killed, it would have meant
a trip "over the road." The sharp hammer had buried
itself in his thumb, so I was told. I saw him many times
afterwards, but never made myself known to him.
By main strength and awkwardness, six policemen put
me in the "hurry-up wagon," and I was taken to jail,
coatless, hatless and an umbrella less. That evening I
was liberated by Chief of Police John Farley, after Mr.
116 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
McCartney had come to see me. This ended the matter
after old Colts 45 was taken out of "soak," and I had
tried to round up my hat and the gold head of my
umbrella, but they had vanished.
Poor Mamie died in my arms early m the winter as
I was holding her at the window to get fresh air. Her
suffering had been something awful and our physician,
Dr. Herman H. Martin, shed tears when the end came.
This was a surprise to me for I didn't think a doctor
could shed tears, as they become so accustomed to great
suffering.
Mamie's aunt, Mrs. Will F. Read, formerly Miss
Emma Lloyd, of Shelbyville, Illinois, one of nature's
purest and noblest women, came out from her home in
Anna, Illinois, to comfort my wife in her last days on
earth. When Mrs. Read returned to Illinois, I let her
take Viola along, as she had no children of her own and
begged so hard for the child to raise, as I had no way of
caring for her.
Shortly after the breaking up of my home, I was sent
to Santa Fe, New Mexico, to work for the Territory.
I was the only operative in the Denver office who was
familiar with the Mexican language, hence this opera
tion fell to my lot.
It was in the early part of February, 1891. The Ter
ritorial legislature was in session at Santa Fe, the capital,
and one night armed assassins fired into the law office
of Mr. Thos. B. Catron, where the executive committee
of the senate was holding a meeting.
The men who did the shooting were on horseback and
rode up to the glass front office building on the ground
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 117
floor and fired. It was late at night. One charge of
buckshot struck Ancheta in the neck and another lodged
in some law books on a table lying in front of Mr. Catron.
The books saved his life. One rifle bullet barely missed
Ex-Governor Stover, then a Territorial senator.
A fierce fight had been raging in the legislature over a
free public school bill which had been introduced by
Ancheta, an educated Mexican, and was being fought by
the Catholic church. The legislature had appropriated
$20,000.00 as a fund to run down the guilty parties. Re
wards were offered and a committee of three was ap
pointed to handle this fund. On this committee were the
governor, L. Bradford Prince, the attorney-general, Ed
ward L. Bartlett and territorial senator, Thos. B. Catron,
all being leading Republicans.
On my arrival in the oldest city in the Union, and the
cradle of "Ben Hur," I had a consultation with Gov.
Prince, and later with the other two members of the com
mittee. I was made familiar with all the facts in the case,
even to a peculiar track made by one of the horses ridden
by one of the shooters in running over the frozen snow
and slush. One hind hoof of this horse dug up the dirt
in a peculiar fashion, showing that the hoof was crooked.
John Gray, the city marshal, and a crowd had followed
the tracks of these horsemen to the junction of two roads,
one leading to Las Vegas and the other to the Cow
Springs country. Here all trace was lost.
I was told to work on the "White Caps," and if pos
sible, join their order, as there was no doubt about mem
bers of that lawless gang being the guilty ones, and that
possibly the whole organization was in the plot.
118 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
During the last election the "White Caps" had carried
the county of San Miguel, Las Vegas being the county
seat, and elected to the legislature one of its leaders,
Pablo H., who had just finished serving a sentence in the
territorial penitentiary at Santa Fe. My mind was soon
made up to win the friendship of this ex-convict member
of the legislature, and through him join the "White
Caps."
The sheriff of Santa Fe county, Francisco Chaves, was
a member of the "White Caps" organization and by
spending money freely with him, we became fast friends.
One night on our rounds in the "hurrah" part of the
city, we ran into Pablo H. and his gang of friends. Of
course, I was introduced to the gang, and we proceeded
to "whoop 'em up."
A few days later the legislature adjourned and by invi
tation from Pablo, I was a passenger with him on the
train for Las Vegas. In Las Vegas, both the old and
new towns, I was introduced to all the "White Cap"
friends of Pablo H., among them being his two brothers.
Judge Jose and Nicanor, the latter being a fine looking
specimen of the Mexican race, with jet black wavy hair,
reaching to the shoulders; but the fierce determined ex
pression on his face portended evil for his enemies.
Days passed into weeks and Pablo and I became in
separable. We consumed much bad liquor and ate many
fine meals in swell society at the Montezuma hotel, six
miles from Las Vegas, at the Hot Springs. The only
thing to worry me was a fear that H. H. Pierce, of the
Stock Growers' Journal might give me away. I had been
introduced to him by my old friend Lute Wilcox, of the
PABLO H. STANDING.— His Two BROTHERS SITTING.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 119
Field & Farm in Denver, Colorado, a couple of years
previous, and now he recognized me and I had to trust
him to keep my identity a secret. The county clerk, Rox.
Hardy, who had been elected by the "White Cap" vote,
was his running mate, and I feared that Pierce might tell
the secret to him and the chances are he did. I after
wards found out that Rox. Hardy was a friend to the
"White Caps" for revenue only, so then I had no fear.
I had an old time friend in the new town of Las Vegas
by the name of "Nick" Chaffin. He owned a livery
stable in partnership with a Mr. Duncan. He didn't rec
ognize me as we had not met before for twelve years.
The fact that I went by an assumed name, C. Leon Alli
son, threw him off his guard when Pablo introduced us
one night.
Seeing "Nick" brought back memories of early days
in the Panhandle of Texas. I was dying to make myself
known to "Nick," so that I could "hark back" to a time in
1877 when he got me to ride a wild horse for him. This
horse gave me a new kind of a ride and thereby impressed
"Nick" Chaffin's photo on memory's tablet.
I had faith in Mr. Chaffin not giving me away inten
tionally, but the rules of my agency forbid making our
selves known where there is nothing to be gained by so
doing.
I finally bought a horse and saddle and one night when
Pablo H. had to attend an important meeting of "White
Caps" near the Mexican town of Tecolote, about ten
miles from Las Vegas, I went along. Pablo and I had
been drinking considerably that day, as I wanted him to
feel gay when the time came for him to start, so that he
120 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
would invite me to accompany him, which he did. Each
of us carried a bottle of whiskey as we galloped over the
hills to Tecolote. We rode up to a large adobe hall stand
ing on a hill, solitary and alone, about 9 p. M. The light
of the candles inside could scarcely be seen owing to the
heavy curtains over the windows.
I felt a little shaky for fear that Pierce might have
given me away and that this might be a trap set to murder
me. I suggested to Pablo that as I was not a member of
the order, I remain outside. This was done for effect,
but Pablo insisted that I was his friend and wherever he
went I should go. Pablo gave the secret knock at the
door and it was opened. Seeing a "Gringo" stranger
entering at Pablo's heels, the guard tried to stop me, but
Pablo, being a powerful man, brushed the fellow to one
side and cursed him in Mexican.
In the rear of the hall several new members were be
ing initiated into the "White Cap" order, which had a
charter from the Knights of Labor and pretended to be
a branch of that organization merely for effect. My
presence in the hall came near starting a riot. The master-
workman ordered me put out. Pablo put his hand on
his pistol and told the crowd to stand back. Then he
made a fiery speech, such as he had lately made in the
legislative halls at Santa Fe. He soared to the sky in his
Spanish eloquence and told how he had bled and starved
for their noble order and how he would suffer his eyes
to be plucked out rather than bring a man into the lodge
who couldn't be trusted. The large crowd of rough look
ing Mexicans and half-breed Indians were carried off
their feet by this speech and they cheered loudly. The
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 121
master-workman put a motion before the house that the
rules be suspended and I be initiated into the order. It
was carried.
The half dozen candidates still stood in the middle of
the hall forming a circle and holding each other's hands.
They seemed frightened. Pablo led me over and break
ing the circle, he placed my hands into those of two Mex
icans, and thereby patched up the broken circle. In the
center of this circle strange chalk marks were made on
the floor. They all represented something. The cere
mony was started anew for my benefit. It consisted of
weird chanting and gestures and sworn pledges to give
up life if necessary for the good of the order or a
brother in need. This last clause proved hard on my
territorial pocket book as later I found hundreds in need
of a drink.
I was the only "Gringo" (American) member of this
lodge and I felt highly honored. Most of its members
were "Penitentes," the religious fanatics who whip them
selves with cactus and inflict all manner of cruelties upon
themselves. In this county they were 2,200 strong, and
most of them had joined the "White Caps" and ruled in
politics.
The "White Cap" order had been formed for the pur
pose of cutting fences and even killing stockmen who
fenced large tracts of land. They traveled in large
bands, wearing white caps on their heads and on their
horses' heads. The horses were also covered with white
sheets at times. The leaders finally turned it into a polit
ical order to frighten voters into voting the Populist
ticket. Some men who opposed them were murdered. I
122 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
was let into their secrets of the past. One pitiful case
was where they murdered a poor Turk because they
thought he was a detective.
For quite a while I lived with Nicanor H. on his ranch
near Tecolote.
In attending other lodges and visiting brother mem
bers in Moro county, I saw many cruel scenes performed
by the "Penitentes."
I spent some time visiting with Col. Blake and his fam
ily at Rociada, in Mora county. I knew Col. Blake in
White Oaks, New Mexico, in 1880, but he failed to recog
nize me. He was a strong Populist and hence sympa
thized with the "White Caps."
I satisfied myself that the "White Caps" had nothing
to do with the shooting of Ancheta at Santa Fe. I then
bade my "White Cap" friends goodbye, and left overland
for Santa Fe, a distance of about 80 miles.
Soon after this Pablo H. became an outlaw and killed
men for the fun of it, so it was said. He was finally
arrested and broke jail. While court was in session at
Las Vegas, he got drunk and defied the court and its
officers. This angered District Judge Smith and he
ordered Billy Green, a fearless officer, to bring Pablo H.
dead or alive, before his court. Green carried out the
court's order by bringing Pablo's corpse before the judge.
But this proved the doom of Billy Green. He and a
companion were waylaid and killed later.
Nicanor H., soon after we parted, killed a man and was
sent to the penitentiary. But after serving a short sen
tence he was pardoned and my old-time friend, former
attorney-general of New Mexico, Col. Geo. W. Prichard,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 123
informs me that he is now living an honorable, indus
trious life in Las Vegas. His brother, Judge Jose H.,
died a natural death.
On my way over to Santa Fe, I traded horses. In the
distance I saw a cloud of dust and two black objects
cutting all kinds of monkey-shines. I hurried to the
place and found a negro man trying to plow with a brown
mare. The mare was wild and wouldn't be hitched to
the plow. The air was impregnated with cuss words and
rivulets of perspiration were flowing from the negro's
manly brow. He recognized me as a brother "White
Cap" whom he had met at one of the lodges. Then there
was rejoicing. He asked me to help him hitch up the
"d old mar'." I replied that I was in too much of a
hurry, but to accommodate him I would trade horses.
He asked if mine would work. I told him yes, that he
was hankering to get into that plow and tear up the dirt.
With a grin on his face he called it a trade. His mare
was much larger than my horse, and worth more. I
didn't lie to make this trade, for in Texas where I was
brought up, a lie told in a horse trade is the truth.
Mr. "Coon" helped me saddle the mare and when I
mounted her she bucked hard and wi£ked. Between
jumps I could hear the negro's loud laugh and now and
then I caught a glimpse of his white teeth shining in the
sun. We finally got straightened out and headed west
in a gallop. It was a level stretch of country and in look
ing back all I could see was a cloud of dust where the
negro and the bay bronco were having a tug of war.
This horse had never had harness on. I never knew who
won in this battle, the negro or the horse, but I could
124 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
smell the brimstone from the cuss words thrown at me as
long as I was in sight. Of course, it may have been im
agination.
I arrived in Santa Fe after a hard ride. I thought a
hard ride would take the "buck" out of the mare, but it
didn't, for next morning when I mounted her on one of
the main streets of Santa Fe, she bucked hard. In this
bucking match my pistol flew out of its scabbard and
was picked up by Cooley Beaver, thus starting a friend
ship which has lasted to this day.
After a meeting with Gov. Prince, I left for Cow
Springs, the end of the other road which the assassins
might have taken. It was at the junction of this and
the Las Vegas roads where the trail had been lost on the
night of the shooting.
Cow Springs is a long day's ride from Santa Fe. It
is an out-of-the-way place and consisted of about a dozen
Mexican families who had small farms and ranches.
There was only one brother "White Cap" in the settle
ment. His name was Eustaquio P. He was a good fellow
and we became warm friends. The balance were all re
publicans.
I lived with Francisco G. and his family.
Before being here a week I found that I was on the
right track. I located the horse with a peculiar hind
hoof, and to satisfy myself I went after cattle one day
with the owner of this horse, which was his pet, and I
examinecT the tracks. The crooked hoof threw up the
dirt exactly as described after the shooting. I also found
out that the owner of this animal, with other relatives of
his, were in Santa Fe up to the night of the shooting.
In fact, I satisfied myself that here lived the guilty parties.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 125
Two weeks after my arrival in Cow Springs, we had a
"big time" which broke the monotony of living on chili
and other Mexican dishes.
It was Sunday and the Catholic priest came from
Santa Fe to christen the new bell in the small adobe
church. We all turned out and met him several miles
from the settlement. We returned riding ahead of the
priest, singing and playing musical instruments. Sixto G.
had a violin and he led the procession. After the new
bell was put in place, five cents was charged to ring it
once. I spent about $1.00 ringing the bell. Quite a purse
was collected. Even little babies at their mother's breast
forked over a nickel to ring the bell.
Soon after this we received word that a Mexican
woman had died from smallpox out in the hills and that
there was no one to bury her. A crowd of us took
shovels, etc., and struck out to do the job. In the house
lay the corpse and by the side of two little twin babies
lying on the floor with nothing but a sheepskin under
them, sat the father feeding the babies. He had nothing
to feed them with but dried raw beef which he would chew
up and stick in their mouths so they could suck the juice
out of it. Their* little bodies were parched and cracked
open from the smallpox. The winking of the coal-black
eyes and the movement of their lips were the only signs
of life left in them. After burying the woman I got a
box of salve from my saddle pockets and greased those
little babes from head to foot. It was a pleasure to see
them smile and their little eyes wink. It no doubt re
lieved fheir pain.
I had no fear of catching the smallpox, as I had it in
136 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
1882 in Texas. On that occasion I had to ride 200 miles
to a doctor and had to sleep out at night in rain with no
covering but my saddle blankets. Therefore, you may
know that I could sympathize with these babes. I had
always heard that a person couldn't take smallpox more
than once, but I know better now. Gen. Smith's son-in-
law, I am told, died in Santa Fe the third time he had it,
and doctors tell me that a case is on record where a man
had the disease eight times. I know positively now of
one poor d— '• — 1 who had it twice.
On our return to Cow Springs we sent a nurse and
food to those sick babies, but they died a few days later.
Shortly after the burial of the woman, I got sick with
a burning fever. Late in the evening I started for Lamy
Junction, the nearest store, a distance of 12 miles, to get
a bottle of Carter's little liver pills, my favorite remedy
when feeling badly. I secured a room in the Harvey hotel
and taking a dose of pills, went to bed for the night.
Next morning I felt worse and was burning up with
fever. Still I had faith in a few doses of the pills curing
me, so I concluded to return to Cow Springs.
After saddling my mare I dreaded to mount her, as her
vicious bucking which she always practised after a night's
rest, would be painful to my already aching bones.
I was sitting on the steps in front of Charlie Haspel-
math's store holding the mare by the rope with my face
buried in both hands to ease the severe headache. Just
then a big drunken Irish car repairer for the railroad
company came along and asked me to please give him a
ride on my horse, as he hadn't been on a pony since
coming west. Forgetting all about my headache and
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
looking up with a smile, I handed him the rope. The
mare stood still until he was seated in the saddle, then
business started with a rush. Seemed to me as if the
Irishman stayed up in the air long enough for birds to
have built a nest in his coat pocket. I heard afterwards
that he lay in the hospital quite a while. The mare went
flying over the hills towards the southeast, dragging the
long rope. I hired two Mexicans on good horses to
stay on her trail and bring her back. She was found
fourteen days afterwards twenty-five miles from Lamy,
just about starved to death. The rope had wound around
a tree. The saddle was gone.
In the evening the train started for Santa Fe, and I
was one of the passengers. On arriving in the city I had
a hack take me to Mrs. Aaron Gold's rooming house,
where I had formerly roomed. She had two nice daugh
ters, Rebecca and Zepora, and I had found it a pleasant
place to live.
I was a very sick man, but kept on my feet long enough
to slip into the Governor's Palace after dark to report to
Gov. Prince. He was absent from the city, so Mrs.
Prince, his wife, informed me. She entertained me in
her elegantly furnished parlor for a couple of hours, so
that I forgot about being sick. It was a treat to have my
high-heel cowboy boots buried in Brussels carpet after
being so long on dirt floors. But I smile even to this
day when I think of how good Mrs. Prince would have
stampeded had she known that I was at that moment
burning up with a smallpox fever.
That night I slept very little and by the next morning
I was beginning to lose faith in Carter's little liver pills.
128 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
I had already taken half the bottle and still the fever was
growing worse. Despite my suffering, most of the day
was spent writing reports. Late in the evening I went
to bed and sent for Dr. J. H. Sloan. While waiting for
him Miss Zepora Gold came and sat at the head of my
bed and with her beautiful girlish face and sweet voice,
cheered my drooping spirits, but it wasn't for long, for
when the doctor came and pronounced it smallpox she
stampeded.
It was raining hard and Dr. Sloan told me not to
listen to the pleadings of Mrs. Gold and her daughters
should they try to have me moved in the rain, as it would
cause my death. I sent for my old "White Cap" Mexi
can friend, Francisco Lechuga, to come and nurse me.
As Dr. Sloan was slow about returning, I became im
patient and sent my nurse after Dr. Harroun. He also
pronounced it smallpox and advised me not to be moved
in the rain.
After dark Mrs. Gold and Zepora pled with me from a
distance through the partly opened door, to vacate my
room before the other roomers learned of my presence,
(as they would all leave. I could resist the pitiful plead
ing of Mrs. Gold, but not of the pretty daughter. I
thought of the countless numbers who in past ages had
given up their lives at the command of youth and beauty,
and why not I ? So I consented to be moved if a place
could be found for me.
In the course of an hour Mrs. Gold returned saying
that she had found a place at the house of Diego Gon-
zales, but that I would have to pay $3 a day for a room
and board; that they would wait on me during the day,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 129
but I had to furnish my own nurse at night. I agreed
to this.
Soon a hack drove up to Mrs. Gold's and throwing a
quilt over my head I walked through a pouring rain for
about 100 feet to where the hack stood. An hour later,
when Dr. Harroun found me in my new quarters he was
angry at me for moving in the rain. By this time I had
broken out with sores from head to foot, and I was
"swelled up" like a Chicago alderman.
About four or five days later, Dr. Harroun came to see
me at about 8 p. M. as usual. He felt my pulse and then
began walking up and down the floor with a worried look
on his face. I could still see through a corner of one
eye which hadn't swollen shut yet. I knew there was
something wrong, so I asked for an explanation. The
doctor sat down by the head of my bed and taking hold
of my hand, told me that I couldn't live till morning, as
my temperature had been up to the highest pitch, either
105 or 107, I forget which, for four or five days, which
was the limit; that my vital energy would be burnt out
before morning. He advised that if I had any word or
will to leave, that I attend to it then. I made him
promise that he would keep the matter of what he was to
write down a secret; and that not a soul but himself
should know of it until after my death. I got him to write
down a last farewell to my mother and relatives, but
didn't tell who they were, nor where they lived.
Before leaving, the doctor left some medicine for me
to take every ten minutes. He instructed my nurse, a
strange young Mexican whom Francisco Lechuga had
sent to work in his place that night, to stay awake and
9
130 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
give me the medicine regularly. Then the doctor shook
hands with me and departed.
After the doctor had gone, the band began playing in
the Plaza, and we could hear shouting and firing of
cannon. The sleepy old city had woke up that day from
her 300 years' slumber. An election had been held, and
it was voted to incorporate and have a city government
This music and noise was to celebrate the event.
After giving me the first dose of medicine, the nurse
asked if he could go to the door and hear the music. I
consented, with his promise to be back in 10 minutes so
as to give me the medicine again. I had overlooked the
fact that he was of the common peon class, and that free
liquor was flowing like water down town.
The Gonzales house covered nearly half an acre of
ground, and the family lived across an open court in a
different part of the residence from my room. They
had gone down town to the rally after turning me over to
the nurse before the arrival of the doctor, hence they
knew nothing of my dangerous condition. On returning
at midnight, they went to bed;.
After enduring a burning thirst for an hour or two, I
tried to get up to find a drink of water and call for help,
but failed. I was swelled up like a barrel, and every inch
of my body even to the soles of my feet and the inside
of my throat was covered with sores. In lying so long
on my back, these sores had become calloused, but on
undertaking to turn over on to the fresh sores so as to
try to get up, I would scream with pain and fall over on
my back again. By this time I was good and angry at
my nurse for his long absence, and I surmised the truth
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 131
of his long stay. The only consolation that I had during
the night was the satisfaction of knowing how to curse in
the Mexican language, for fear that the god who ruled
over this truant son of old Montezuma might not under
stand my English swearing.
After my anger had cooled down somewhat, I began
to think of dying and wondered what kind of a reception
I would receive on the other shore from whence no cow
boy detective has ever returned.
Towards morning I could hardly get my breath, and I
was suffering the torments of hell. This I thought
meant the approach of death and I cried at the thoughts
of being dragged off by a lot of cheap peons before my
body was cold, and thrown into a small-pox grave. Then,
for the first time, I realized the satisfaction of being
buried by loving hands and having flowers strewn on our
graves.
When the cry was over my teeth were set and I made
up my mind not to die. I was determined to fight off
death with all the energy left in me.
Next morning at 7 o'clock the doctor was the first one
to come. He was as tickled as a little boy with his first
pair of pants, when he saw I was alive. My temperature
was down to 101, and he said I was safe.
For the next two weeks I suffered greatly. Most of the
time I was compelled to lie flat on my back, as turning
over on to the fresh sores which had not been hardened
through contact with the hard corn-shuck mattress, was
too painful. These sores seemed to have melted and all
run together, forming one solid scab from head to foot.
Diego Gonzales and his good wife had two daughters,
132 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Braulia and Delfina; also some little grandchildren by
a son, Perfecto, and they all made it pleasant for me
while recovering. The baby grandchild, Manuel, spent
half of his time playing in my room. Catarina, an
adopted daughter, also did her share towards making life
worth living.
It was the first part of July when Francisco G. came
in from Cow Springs in his wagon and took me out
home to where my bucking mare was waiting for a tussel
with me. She hadn't been ridden since that drunken son
of Ireland struck the earth on his head, and she had re
covered from that hungry spell while fast to a tree for a
couple of weeks. After buying another saddle, I gave the
mare an opportunity to practise her favorite game. I
finally traded her off though, as I had tired of her
"monkey business."
For the next month or two my time was divided be
tween Cow Springs and Santa Fe.
I received a partial confession from the Mexican with
the crooked hoof horse, also other evidence that convinced
me of the guilty parties who fired into Catron's office;
but I was never able to satisfy myself positively, as to
the motive, though I think it was done to kill Ancheta
and Governor Stover for their part in helping to pass
a public free school law for the Territory. Of course it
could have been done by these few religious fanatics
without the sanction of the Church, even though the
priests and Church officials did fight Ancheta and Stover,
"tooth and nail," through their representatives in the
legislative halls.
The chances are the Borreago gang of "bad" men — four
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 133
of whom were hung for murder in Santa Fe a few years
later — had a hand in the Ancheta shooting. For, in
visiting Santa Fe with any of these Cow Springs sus
pects we would always call on the Borreago boys. There
seemed to be a deep friendship between the two families.
On laying the matter before Governor Prince and
General Bartlett, I advised that the suspects be arrested,
as I felt sure one or more would become frightened and
make a full confession. But this was decided not ad
visable, owing to the chance of failure, which would in
jure the Republican party, the suspects being members
thereof. I believe in taking chances in such matters, and
"sink or swim." The chances were favorable for a con
fession, had they been jailed under the impression that
we knew all of their secrets. Of course it may have re
sulted in opening old sores in New Mexico politics, which
I knew nothing of; for, in Spanish-speaking countries,
politics make strange bed-fellows. It was decided best
to drop the matter and discontinue the operation.
It was early fall when I took my departure for Denver.
I hated to leave, as I had found the climate of Santa Fe
the finest that I had ever been in. The summers can't
be beaten anywhere, and the winters are better than most
places. In fact, I liked it so well that I made up my
mind to build a permanent home there, and with that end
in view I secured a tract of land a short distance from
the outskirts of the city and christened it the Sunny Slope
Ranch.
During my eight months in sunny New Mexico on
this operation, I saw much of the Mexican people,
especially of the lower classes. I like them as a whole,
134 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and would like them still more if the blood of their
Spanish sires could be eradicated so as to do away with
their cruelty to dumb animals. As a whole, they are a
hospitable, law-abiding people, although their gait is not
very swift, except when they fill up on the rotten, poison
liquors which are manufactured in local cellars cheaply,
for this class of trade, by Jews and so-jgalled Americans
of the money-grabbing races.
CHAPTER VII
THE BLOODY COEUR D'ALENE STRIKE — I BECOME RE
CORDING SECRETARY OF THE UNION — DURING THE
RIOT I SAWED A HOLE IN THE FLOOR TO ESCAPE
FROM BLOOD-THIRSTY DYNAMITERS.
After the smallpox siege I found myself in Denver
without a home or family ties ; but I had quite a fat little
bank account. My salary had piled up during the eight
months that I was gone, as I had no occasion to touch
it, all my expenses, even to my laundry, medicine and
doctor bills, having been paid by our client, the Territory
of New Mexico.
This goes to show that the business of a detective is
more suitable for a single man. In fact the business is
unjust and cruel to the wife, even though she does get
to spend the biggest part of her hubby's money while he
is absent. She is deprived of his company and protection
when most needed, and has to shut her eyes to the fact
that he has to associate with all kinds of women, in order
to win a case.
After a few weeks' rest in Denver, Mr. McCartney
called me into his private office and told me to get ready
for a long trip into the Coeur D'Alene mining district of
northern Idaho.
He explained that the Miners' Union of that district
was raising Hades with the mine-owners who had formed
themselves into a Mine-Owners' Association for self-
135
136 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
protection, and that the Association wanted a good opera
tive to join the Miners' Union, so as to be on the inside
of the order when the fast approaching eruption occurred.
I told Mr. McCartney that I didn't want this operation
as my sympathy was with labor organizations as against
capital. He replied that if such was the case I couldn't
do the Agency's clients justice, and for that reason he
would have to select another operative.
A few days later I was detailed on a railroad operation
through Utah and California, along with several other
operatives.
A month or more had passed when one day in Salt
Lake City, Utah, I received a telegraph message from
McCartney instructing me to come to Denver on the first
train. This I did, and on meeting McCartney he said:
"Now Charlie, you have got to go to the Coeur D'Alenes.
You're the only man I've got who can go there and get
into the Miner's Union. They are on their guard against
detectives and they became suspicious of the operative I
sent up there, and ran him out of the country. We know
the leaders to be a desperate lot of criminals of the
Molly Maguire type, and you will find it so. I will let
your own conscience be the judge, after you get into
their Union. If you decide they are in the right and
the Mine-owners are in the wrong, you can throw up the
operation without further permission from me."
This seemed fair, so I accepted and began making
preparations for at least a year's absence.
In Wallace, Idaho, the central town of the Coeur
D'Alene district, I had a secret meeting with a Mr.
Hankins who represented Mr. John Hayes Drummond,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 137
the President of the Mine-Owners' Association, and John
A. French, Secretary of the Association. The importance
of my work and the difficulties under which I would have
to operate, were laid before me. I was told that the
Miners' Union were on the lookout for detectives, and
that the Union in Burk had become suspicious of a Thiel
detective by the name of Mitch G., and ran him out of
the country a short time previous.
It was agreed that no one in Gem knew me, outside
of the mine superintendent, John Monihan, and that I
would be described to him so that he would put me to
work when I applied for a job.
A day or two later I applied to John Monihan in a
natural way, and he turned me over to one of his shift-
bosses, Peterson, on the Gem mine, who was told to make
a place for me, Peterson of course not knowing who I
was. I gave the name of C. Leon Allison. I worked
as a regular miner two weeks, on day-shift, and the next
two, on the night-shift.
Gem was a camp of two or three stores and half a
dozen saloons. The three mines, the Gem, Helen Frisco,
and Black Bear, which supported the camp, were near
by, so that the men boarded in town. About 500 miners
worked in these three mines, besides hundreds of other
surface workmen ; hence the little camp was a lively place
after night when the saloons and gambling halls were
running full blast. I put in much of my time at the
saloons and made myself a "good fellow" among "the
boys."
My worst trouble was writing reports and mailing
them. These reports had to be sent to St. Paul,
138 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Minnesota, where our Agency had an office, with my
Chicago friend, John O'Flyn, as superintendent. There
they were typewritten and mailed back to John A. Finch,
Secretary of the Mine-Owners' Association, where all the
mine-owners could read them.
The Gem Post Office was in the store of a man by the
name of Samuels, a rabid anarchist and Union sympa
thizer; so for that reason I dare not mail reports there.
"Big Frank" was the deputy post-master and handled
most of the mail. He was a member of the Gem Miners'
Union, consequently I had to walk down to Wallace,
four miles, to mail reports; and for fear of being held
up I had to slip down there in the dark.
Two weeks after my arrival in Gem, I joined the Gem
Miners' Union, and a couple of months later I was
elected recording secretary of the Union. Geo. A. Petti-
bone, a rabid anarchist, was its financial secretary.
Now that I had become an officer of the Gem Union, I
concluded to quit work; but I didn't want to quit of my
own accord. I wanted shift-boss Peterson to discharge
me so that I couldn't get any more work in the camp.
In order to be "fired," I shirked my duty and was dis
charged.
That night I got on a big "jamboree," and spent my
wages freely.
In order not to desert the Miners' Union to hunt work
elsewhere, as trouble with the Mine-Owners' Association
was expected soon, I pretended to send to my rich father
in Texas for money to carry me through the winter.
Now that I was not working, I had plenty of time to
accompany Geo. A. Pettibone and others to the houses
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 139
of supposed "scabs," or of men who wouldn't pay their
dues to the Union, and order them to leave the country.
Often they were stubborn and wouldn't go. Then we
would get up a mob by holding a citizens' mass-meeting
to run them out of the State.
We would first hold a special meeting of the Union, to
resolve on running certain ones out. Then boys, ringing
bells, would be sent through the town calling a citizens'
meeting in the Union Hall; but no one except members
were allowed to enter the hall. Then it would be de
clared the sense of the citizens' indignation meeting that
certain "scabs" be run out of the State. Often as many as
half a dozen "scabs" would be taken from their homes,
sometimes with weeping wives and children begging for
mercy, and with tin pans and the music of bells, they
would be marched up and down the street to be spit upon
and branded as "scabs," before the public eye. Then,
half clothed and without food, the poor devils would be
marched up the canyon, a few miles beyond the big
mining camp of Burk, three miles distant, and told to
"hit the road" and never return at the peril of their lives.
Pistols would be fired over their heads to give them a
good running start.
By this route, during the winters, the snow is waist
deep over the Bitter Root range of mountains, and not a
living inhabitant until reaching Thompson's Falls, Mon
tana, a distance of about thirty miles.
This thing was kept up all winter, and I learned a few
new lessons in human nature. My mind had taken a
regular "flop" on the labor union question, since telling
Superintendent McCartney that my sympathies were with
140 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
the unions. I had found the leaders of the Coeur
D'Alene unions to be, as a rule, a vicious, heartless gang
of anarchists. Many of them had been rocked in the
cradle of anarchy at Butte City, Montana, while others
were escaped outlaws and toughs from other States.
Of course, after a batch of these "scabs" were run
over the range to Montana, the daily papers of Spokane,
Washington and Anaconda and Butte, Montana, would
come out with glaring head-lines of how the citizens had
held a mass-meeting and ordered these "scabs" deported ;
that the unions had nothing to do with it. I knew better
though, but the general public didn't.
Thus did the winter of 1891-92 pass.
Gem was not the only transgressor of our glorious
Constitution. The deporting of "scabs" was going on in
the other camps, though Gem and Burk took the lead.
During the winter I often attended the Burk Union
meetings. At one of these meetings, I had the pleasure
of seeing with my own eyes a Miners' Union Irishman,
not many years from the "ould sod," who was for law,
order and justice, first, last, and all the time. He was a
fine-looking specimen of manhood, with jet black hair,
eyes and mustache. He made a fine speech, but after he
had finished he was sat down on so hard by the rabid
leaders, that he couldn't get his jaws in working order
again during the whole winter. I saw him at many meet
ings after that, but he never said a word. There had
been talk of branding him as a "scab." This was a warn
ing to others to fall in line and be true union men.
In joining the Gem Union, I had to take an iron-clad
"Molly Maguire" oath that I would never turn traitor to
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 141
the union cause ; that if I did, death would be my reward,
etc.
Early in the Spring of 1892 war was declared between
the Mine-Owners' Association and the Executive Com
mittee of the Coeur D'Alene Central Organization of the
Miners' Unions. This Central Union was made up of
delegates from each local union. Geo. A. Pettibone
represented the Gem Union and he told me that they had
selected a secret crowd of the worst men in the unions to
put the fear of Christ into the hearts of "scabs"; that if
these secret men committed murder the union would stick
by them, but that no one outside the Executive Com
mittee, of which he was a member, was to know who
these secret men were, and their pay came from a fund
reserved "for the good of the order."
After war was declared, all the mines in the Coeur
D'Alenes were closed down. Shortly after this, a big
mass-meeting was called in Wallace to hear both sides of
the trouble.
The Unions of Gem, Burk, Mullens and Wardner, had
the meeting packed with the intention of choking off
the Mine-Owners' side of the question, but the man whom
the Mine-Owners selected to represent their side of the
case, was not of the quitting- kind. He wouldn't be
choked off. He would wait until the cursing, hissing
and abuse ceased and then start in anew.
Back in my part of the Hall, where sat Paddy Burk
and a gang of dynamiters, there was talk of making a
rush for the stage and in the excitement pitch this speech-
making "scab" out of the upstairs window to the pave
ment below. It looked very much as though the meeting
142 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
would end in a riot, but finally cooler heads got control,
and Attorney W. T. Skoll, now one of the leading lawyers
of Spokane, Washington, was allowed to speak his little
piece.
Shortly after this, a train load of "scabs" with Joe
Warren at their head, were imported into the district
from other States. We heard they were on the way.
Then the Central Union's headquarters in Wallace be
came a busy place. I was made one of the despatchers to
carry messages on horse-back, when necessary.
Tom O'Brien was the President, and Joe Poynton was
the Secretary of the Central Union. I was in their com
pany a good deal, and caught on to many of their secrets.
One of them was that the sheriff of the county, Mr.
Cunningham, was in with the union even to murder.
On the day the "scabs" were to arrive in Wallace, there
was great excitement. The drunken sheriff was on his
fine horse with a gang of union deputies to preserve
order, but in reality to help shoot down "scabs," if the
Central Union desired it.
The funny part of it was that the mine-owners caught
the union napping and stole a march on them. Of course
I had been keeping them posted as to the unions' in
tentions.
Instead of the train stopping in Wallace, as expected,
the engineer put on a full head of steam and went flying
up the canyon towards Burk. The poor sheriff waved
his order of arrest under the State laws for importing
armed thugs, as he ran after the train on his swift horse.
Before the armed gang of union men could get back to
Burk afoot, it being seven miles, Joe Warren had un-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 143
loaded his 100 or more armed "scabs" and marched them
up the mountain side to the union mine, which had been
prepared secretly for their reception.
Late that evening Burke was jammed full of angry
miners begging President O'Brien for permission to blow
those "scabs" off the face of the earth. Joe Poynton,
Geo. A. Pettibone, and the rest of the rabid leaders, were
eager for bloodshed, but O'Brien was the dam which held
the angry waters of anarchy back.
A committee of level-headed unionists was finally ap
pointed to go with the sheriff and arrest Joe Warren
peaceably, if possible. Warren submitted to arrest so
as to test the law, and he left a good man to act in his
place. In submitting to arrest, Joe Warren did a foolish
thing, and he would have thought so, could he have heard
the plots to assassinate him that night, as I did. Warren
no doubt realized his danger when he was surrounded by
the hundreds of angry miners. They were clamoring for
his blood; but O'Brien and the drunken sheriff argued
that if he was harmed while under arrest it would ruin
the unions. During all this excitement Warren, who was
in the prime of manhood and stood about six feet four
in his bare feet, was cool, though a little pale behind the
ears. Late at night he was taken to Wallace under a
heavy guard.
To record the fights and cruel acts of the union on
"scabs" for the next few months, would require a book
twice the size of this.
Other train loads of "scabs" were brought into Gem
and placed in the Helen-Frisco and Gem mines under
armed guards.
144 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
A bloody revolution was planned for July sometime.
On the 4th day of July the American flags were shot full
of holes and spat upon.
Previous to this the secrets of the unions were pub
lished in the Coeur D'Alene "Barbarian," a weekly
journal run in the interest of the mine-owners, and pub
lished at Wardner, by a Mr. Brown.
Everything pointed to these union secrets having
leaked out of the Gem union. Therefore, Dallas, a
one-eyed, two-legged, Irish hyena from the Butte City,
Montana union, was sent to Gem to discover the spy
and traitor within their ranks.
After Dallas had been in Gem a few days doing secret
work, a special meeting of our Gem union was called.
On that day a rank union man by the name of Johnny
Murphy confided in me and told me that I was suspected
of being the traitor who supplied the mine owners with
the secrets of the union, as I had access to the books
and made too many trips to Wallace to mail letters ; that
I had been watched mailing letters in Wallace often. He
said that he felt confident that I was not a detective, but
for my personal safety he advised me to skip out and
not attend this special union meeting, as the chances
were I would be killed. He said that h 1 was going
to be turned loose within the next few days or weeks,
and that I would not be safe in the district, even though
innocent.
I assured him that I was innocent and that I would
be a true soldier by sticking to my guns.
That night the large union hall was packed, as it was
known that Dallas would attempt to show up the spy who
had given out the union secrets.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 145
When the meeting was called to order by the President
of the Gem union, a Mr. Oliver Hughes, I sat by his
side upon the raised platform, or stage. With us on the
stage were Pettibone, Eaton, of the Central Union, and
Dallas, the Secretary of the Butte City, Montana union.
After I had read the minutes of the last meeting from
my book as recording secretary, Dallas got up to make
his speech. A pin could have been heard drop, every
thing was so still.
He started out with a shot at me, as he glanced in my
direction. He said: "Brothers, you have allowed a spy
to enter your ranks, and he now sits within reach of my
hand. He will never leave this hall alive. His fate is
doomed. You know your duty when it conies to dealing
with traitors to our noble cause for the upbuilding of
true manhood." Here the applause broke loose and I
joined in. I clapped until the palms of my hands were
sore, despite the fact that I felt a little shaky as to what
lay in store for me.
In a "Wess Harding" shoulder-scabbard under my left
arm, rested old Colts 45, and around my waist under
neath my pants was strapped my pearl-handle bowie
knife. My mind was made up to start business at the
first approach of real danger. Of course I didn't expect
to last long among those hundreds of strong men, many
of whom were armed, but I figured that they couldn't
get but one of me, while I stood a chance to kill several
of them. I would have been like a cat thrown into a
fiery furnace — spit fire so long as life held out.
After Dallas wound up his long fiery speech, which I
must confess was delivered in a masterful manner, a
10
146 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
recess of ten minutes was announced. The president then
asked me to step down off the stage while they examined
my book. I did so. As these officials turned each leaf of
the large book over, my eyes were on them. Finally
they came to something wrong, and Dallas looked down
at me, with a look of, "Oh we've got you now." I
stepped up near the platform and said : "What's the mat
ter gentlemen, you seem to be puzzled?" Dallas replied
in an angry voice : "Here's a leaf cut out of this book.
We want an explanation." I answered that the presi
dent, Mr. Oliver Hughes had ordered me to cut that leaf
out. The president jumped up with an oath and said
it was a lie. I then referred him to the time when the
members of the Burk union came down to hold a joint
meeting with us, at which time it was voted on and
decided to pull up the pumps of the Poorman and Tiger
mines at Burk, and flood the lower workings of these
deep properties ; that I wrote down the full facts of our
resolution and read it at the following meeting; my duty
requiring me to read the minutes of the previous meet
ing; and that then he (the president) ordered me to cut
out this leaf and burn it, as nothing of that kind should be
put in the minutes to be on record, in case the book fell
into the hands of the enemy.
The president then acknowledged the fact, and Dallas
smothered the wrath which he had been accumulating
for the explosion to follow.
Instead of burning the leaf, I had sent it to St. Paul
along with my reports.
Finally I got back on the stage when the meeting was
again called to order, after my book had been carefully
gone through.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 147
The president then made a conservative speech and
advised that nothing be done to-night that might bring
discredit on the union. He said the time would soon be
here when we could act. Of course I helped cheer, and
it came from my heart this time, as I could see daylight
ahead. The meeting was then adjourned.
I have no doubt but that Dallas and his gang thought
that I would show my guilt during and after his blood
curdling speech, and that during the ten minutes' recess
I would make some kind of an excuse to the outer guard
at the door so as to get out. But I was too "foxy" to
make a break like that. Neither did I show guilt in my
actions or looks. I had learned to control my looks
while playing poker in cow-camps on the range, so my
opponents couldn't guess the value of my hand by the
looks of my face.
A couple of days after the above occurrence, Mrs.
Shipley called my attention to a man sitting on a box in
front of the postoffice, and informed me that she had
noticed him following me. Looking through the store
window, I recognized Tim W's chum, "Black Jack" from
Tuscarora, Nevada. He had helped in the blowing up
of Prinz and Felling and we had heard that he skipped
out to Africa. Later I caught him watching me, but
didn't pretend to notice it. Whether he had really
recognized me or was trying to place me, I never knew ;
but as I later found out that he was a member of the
Miners' Union, I concluded that he had recognized and
given me away to the union, for the chances are by this
time he knew my business.
I had bought a two-story building in the center of
148 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
town, and in the store part, Mrs. Kate Shipley and I
started a small store. Upstairs there were 12 furnished
rooms and I gave Mrs. Shipley half the income from
these to run the place. She roomed back of the store
with her little five-year-old boy, while my room was up
stairs.
Mrs. Shipley, whose husband was on their farm in
Dakota, had no idea that I was a detective.
To keep prowlers out of our back yard, I built a high
board-fence and made it tight so as to shut out the public
gaze. As a precaution in case of trouble, I left the bot
tom of one wide board loose so that I could crawl out
instead of going over the fence.
At our next regular meeting night of the union, early
in the evening, Billy Flynn, a brother-in-law to John
Day, with whom I had previously roomed, called me off
to myself. He was pretty drunk. He began crying and
said he hated to go back on union principles by warning
a spy and traitor of danger, but said he always liked me
and he couldn't believe that I was a Dickenson detective.
Of course I assured him that I was not. Then he shook
my hand and said I didn't look degraded enough for a
detective who would take a false oath by entering a union
in order to give away their secrets. I asked Flynn to
tell me all the facts as to why I was suspected of being
a detective. He replied that he couldn't do that as he
was sworn to secrecy ; but said that some one who knew
that I was a detective, had recognized me. He further
said that I was doomed to die the death of a traitor, and
he advised that I skip out and not attend the union meet
ing that night.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 149
Dallas was still in town, and I saw him with "Black
Jack" who no doubt had given me away to the union.
The day had been one of excitement. Many "scabs"
had been caught and nearly beat to death. "Scabs" were
fed at the mines and seldom ventured away from their
quarters, but when they did, they were caught and
pounded nearly to death.
Early in the day John A. French had come to Gem, and
was almost mobbed by Joe Poynton and a gang. He
was glad to get back to Wallace with a whole hide.
The time for me, as recording secretary, to be in the
union hall had passed, the hour being 8 P. M. About
8:30 P. M. a committee of three came to my room to see
what was the matter that I didn't attend the meeting.
In my room I kept a Winchester rifle and 100 cart
ridges, secreted under the mattress of my bed, and I had
made up my mind to stay close to these. I told the com
mittee to go back and I would be at the hall in 10
minutes. When they had gone I wrote out my resigna
tion as recording secretary and as a member of the
Miners' Union. In it I told of them planning to knife
me in the dark under the false impression that I was a
Dickenson detective, one of the lowest and most degrad
ing professions that mortal man could follow, and to be
accused of such a black crime behind my back was more
than I could stand, and for that reason I would never
put foot in their union hall again. I gave this resignation
to the door-keeper at the union hall about half a block
from my place, and then returned to our store.
After the union meeting had adjourned, the hall was
thrown open for a public dance. Men kept pouring in
from outlying camps.
150 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
While I was standing in the dark in front of the union
hall watching the dancers through the window, a leading
member of the Mullen union who had just arrived in
town, recognized me and we had a confidential talk on
union matters. Of course he hadn't yet heard of my
downfall in the union. He supposed that I knew all the
secrets of coming events and therefore it was easy for
me to lead him on. From him I found out that blood
would flow here within the next few days ; that it would
amount to a regular uprising against "scabs" and the
mine owners. He said the Homestead, Pa., riots of a
few days previous would be child's play as compared to
our approaching storm. He thought it was billed to come
off the following night, but wasn't sure, as the execu
tive committee of the Central Union had not given out
the exact date. But he said the outside unions had al
ready been ordered to concentrate their forces and arms
in Gem, which would be the center of action.
About 1 1 130 P. M. a member of an outside union, who
had not learned of my being branded as a traitor, told
me that two "scabs" from the Gem mine were to be
murdered and thrown into the river just as soon as the
lights in the union hall were put out, after the dance,
which would only last until midnight. He said that
these two "scabs" had slipped over from the Gem mine
to get a drink, and that a gang of union men had them
at Dutch Henry's saloon getting them drunk so as to
kill them.
A few minutes before midnight I entered Dutch
Henry's saloon in hopes of getting a chance to warn
these two "scabs" of their approaching danger. They
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 151
were surrounded by a dozen union men who were patting
them on the back and making them think they were fine
fellows. One of them was a giant in size and said he
could whip any union man in Gem.
While I was seated in the saloon watching for a
chance to warn these "scabs," I saw a crowd collecting
outside in front of the saloon. I could see through the
front window that they were watching me. It only
lacked ten minutes of midnight.
Just then the front door opened and old Shoemaker
Roberson walked up to me and said : "Say Allison, you
had better duck your nut out of here, and do it quick."
I told him that I would leave when I got good and ready.
He then went out and joined the crowd outside. I
stepped up to the bar and drank a glass of beer, then went
out at the front door.
On reaching the sidewalk the crowd, led by a hair-lip
son of the scum of society, called "Johnny get your
gun," started to enclose me in a circle. I sprang out into
the street and with my hand on my cocked pistol,
threatened to kill the first man who undertook to pull a
gun. In this manner I backed across the street to the
hallway leading up to my room. As I entered the hall
way still facing the 25 or 30 men, "Johnny get your gun"
said: "Oh, you d d traitor, we'll get you before
morning." At this the crowd split and ran around my
building to prevent me from escaping. A few moments
later, through a rear upstairs window I saw men with
rifles guarding the rear of my high board fence. I could
also see three men with rifles on the bridge spanning the
river towards the Gem mine.
152 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
There were no back stairs to my building, but the
window to my room opened out in a narrow alleyway
between my building and Jerry Nelson's Hotel, and here
I had placed an old ladder just for such an emergency as
this.
With my Winchester rifle and pockets full of ammuni
tion, I crawled down this ladder and thence to the board
previously left loose at the bottom. A light shove dis
placed the fence board, and on my hands and knees I
crawled out by the side of a large fallen tree. The board
being put back in place, I was now in a timbered swamp
near the bank of Canyon Creek. The night was dark,
and by crawling between logs and in brush, I reached
the river, which was waded in a dark place under over
hanging trees. Then to prevent being seen by the guards
on the bridge, I had to crawl on my stomach, inch by
inch, for quite a distance. On reaching a place where it
was safe to stand up, I ran to the Gem mine, a few hun
dred yards distant. I found John Monihan, the superin
tendent, up and expecting trouble on account of the
town filling up with union men, and guards being placed
on the bridge. I informed him that two of his men were
to be murdered in Dutch Henry's saloon.
While we and some of the Thiel guards were figuring
on the best way to rescue those men, the town constable
under the Justice of the Peace, Geo. A. Pettibone, came
over to tell Mr. Monihan that two of his men had been
"slugged" and one of them was about dead, and that the
badly wounded one had been dragged to the deadline at
the bridge near where the company's office was located.
Monihan and some of the guards returned with the
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 153
constable to get the wounded man. This was the big
fellow who had been drinking in Dutch Henry's saloon,
and he was barely alive. He was beaten almost into a
jelly, his jaw and several ribs being broken. In fact, he
had lost all resemblance to a human being, except in
shape. His face was one mass of bruised and bloody
flesh.
Monihan called for volunteers to walk down to Wallace
four miles, after the doctor, but only one of the Thiel
guards would consent to risk his life, as it was feared
the road to Wallace was guarded by union men, and this
guard refused to go alone.
Rather than see this fellow die without the care of a
doctor, I accompanied the Thiel guard. We arrived in
Wallace, walking on the railroad grade, without mishap.
Dr. Simms was awakened and went back with the guard.
By that time it was about 3 130 A. M.
I then went to report matters to the Secretary of the
Mine-Owners' Association, John A. French. Mr. French
was himself a millionaire, owning many mines and steam
ships on the Pacific coast. I found him in bed and told
him to prepare for riots within the next couple of days.
He begged me to leave the country and not return to
Gem, when I told him the facts; but I told him that I
had enlisted for the war and would stay and see the
finish. I figured that a good sailor never gives up his
ship until she is going down.
I went to a saloon and held the Winchester rifle in
my hand until daylight, at which time the morning train
went to Gem and Burk, the latter place being the end
of that branch line.
154 'A COWBOY DETECTIVE
On the train I found Geo. A. Pettibone who had gone
to Wardner in the night. He had with him a delegation
of union leaders from Wardner and a Catholic priest.
I never knew what the priest was doing in such company.
Pettibone asked what I was doing with a rifle. I told
him that his union scalawags had made a raid on me
during the night, and! that I was going back to kill the
first one who interfered with me. He tried to bulldoze
me from carrying a rifle into Gem. He said it wouldn't
be allowed ; but it was allowed, as I marched through the
large crowd who came to the train to greet the priest
and union delegation.
Shortly after my arrival, Bill Black, a desperado who
had just recovered from a bullet wound through the
stomach, was sent to me to find out my intentions. He
asked if I intended to remain in Gem that night. I said
yes, that I would stay there until carried out a corpse.
This seemed to satisfy him. When he left he went direct
to the union hall to report to the meeting then in session.
The chances are they thought a raid on me then would
spoil their plans, so concluded, as I didn't intend to leave,
to not disturb me until the general uprising started.
I remained in our store, or in Mrs. Shipley's bedroom
back of the store, most of the time.
Mrs. Shipley would visit neighbor women and report
the news to me. It was said the uprising would start
just before daylight.
The whole day had been spent drilling men under
captains in the union hall. By dark the town was jammed
full of union men from all over the district. There were
over 1,000 present.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 155
Mrs. Shipley had found out that a strong guard was
placed all around the town at dark to prevent any one
from leaving Gem. I suppose this was partly for my
benefit.
About 8 P. M. I concluded to "take a sneak" ; so I went
down the old ladder out of my bedroom window, thence
over the same route taken the night before. I crawled
within 30 feet of three union guards.
I reported to Mr. Monihan that the riot was to start
before daylight. He then armed his 120 "scab" miners,
and guards were put out. Until daylight, a tall fellow
known as "Death on the Trail" and I did scout duty, both
sticking close together. No one slept that night to speak
of.
When daylight came I concluded to beard the lion in
his den and find out the latest news from Mrs. Shipley.
Putting the rifle under my raincoat and holding it by my
left side so it couldn't be seen, I walked right by the
three union guards on the bridge. We didn't speak. I
entered the rear door of the Nelson Hotel. In the kitchen
I found the two cooks and a waitress, Miss Olson, but
I only bowed to them. I raised the kitchen window and
jumped through it into the narrow alley where my old
ladder stood. I found Mrs. Shipley in bed. She reported
that all night the union men were drilling in the union
hall. I then went into the store and through a side door
into the hallway and thence upstairs. A window to a
vacant front room was raised so that I could look up
and down the main street. There were only a few armed
men doing guard duty in front of my place. Two men
with rifles stood directly under me. An awning pre-
156 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
vented them from seeing me, though I could see them
through the crack between the awning and the wall.
About this time the long-nose clerk, Jim Ervin, in
White & Benders' store, a few doors below, stuck his
head out of the window to see what was going on. One
of these union men, a big blacksmith, raised his rifle
and said to his companion, Tom Whalen: "Watch me
knock that nose off." He fired and as I learned
later, the bullet just missed the clerk's nose by a scratch.
It being 6 A. M. this no doubt was intended as the signal
shot, as shooting became general up the canyon towards
the Frisco mill, where armed guards and "scab" miners
were housed.
I concluded it was time for me to emigrate, so I
hurried down my ladder and through the window into
the kitchen of the Nelson Hotel. Then I opened the
back door to make a break for the bridge to fight my way
past the three guards there. Just as I opened the door,
the French cook grabbed me by the arm and jerked me
back. I raised the rifle to strike him, but he threw up
his hands and said: "For Christ's sake, don't go out
there. They are laying for you. There are 50 men with
Winchester rifles right around the corner of the house.
I saw them just now when I went after wood."
I had thrown the door wide open, and it still remained
so.
From the end of the bridge across a swamp to this
kitchen door, there was a board walk, and on it, coming
towards us, was a lone man in his shirt sleeves, and un
armed. I recognized him as one of the Thiel guards at
the Gem mine. He was about 50 yards from the kitchen
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 157
door then. I said to the two cooks : "I'll wait and see
what they say to that guard." We all three had our eyes
on him when a voice around the corner said : "Go back
you !" He stopped suddenly and threw up his
hands. Just then a shot was fired and the poor fellow
fell over dead, with a bullet through his heart. His name
was Ivory Bean, and he was an honored member of the
K. P. lodge. He had volunteered to come over to the
drug store after some medicine for the big fellow who
was wounded two nights before. He was supposed to
be dying, and to relieve his suffering, Bean risked his
life. He argued that the union miners surely wouldn't
harm him on an errand of mercy if he went in his shirt
sleeves to show that he carried no fire-arms. The poor
fellow hadn't reckoned on the class of curs that he was
dealing with.
This convinced me that I was "up against the real
thing," so shutting the door and thanking the cook for
saving my life, I crawled back through the window.
Just as I did so, Miss Olson came into the kitchen.
After Bean fell, the men at the Gem mine began to
pepper the town of Gem with rifle-bullets. A big part
of their shooting was at the rear of Daxon's saloon —
that being a union hang-out; but the men in there soon
found the cellar. Billy Daxon had his clothes shot full
of holes. A union man was killed by this shooting. The
firing was still going on at the Frisco Mill. They were
burning powder up there in a reckless, extravagant
manner. I concluded that "war is hell," sure enowgh,
and that I was right in the midst of it without a way to
get out.
158 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
I had Mrs. Shipley keep the store door locked, and told
her to not let any one in. I then went out in the back
yard to see if the coast was clear in the vicinity of my
hole in the fence. I looked through a crack in the fence
and discovered two armed men hiding behind a big log.
I then went into a storeroom adjoining the fence on the
east, and through a crack saw my friend Dallas walking
a beat with a shotgun on his shoulder. He was evidently
guarding a rat in a trap, and I happened to be that rat.
In this storeroom I discarded my hat and coat and in
their place put on an old leather jacket and a black
slouch hat Then I got a saw and went into Mrs.
Shipley's room, and next to the store wall, tore up a
square of carpet and began sawing a hole through the
floor. I sawed out a place just large enough to admit
my body. This done, I replaced the carpet in nice shape,
loosely, over the hole.
At first I had planned a scheme to barricade the head
of the stairs with furniture and bedding and then
slaughter all who undertook to come up the stairs. Had
I carried out this plan, the newspapers would have had
some real live news to record; but I hated to wait up
stairs for business to come my way, hence made up my
mind to go under the floor and. do some skirmishing,
which would at least keep my mind occupied.
The back part of my store building rested flat on the
ground, and the front part was up on piles three feet
high.
Finally I bade Mrs. Shipley and her little five-year-old
goodbye, and dropped out of sight. Then Mrs. Shipley
pulled her trunk over the hole as per my instructions.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 159
In scouting around under the house, I could find no
possible way to get out, except up under the board side
walk on the main street. Through a crack the width of
my hand, on the east side, I saw Dallas resting on his
beat. He was leaning on his shot-gun. I up with my
rifle and took aim at his heart, but before pulling the
trigger, the thought of the danger from the smoke go
ing up through the cracks and giving my hiding place
away, flashed through my mind, and the rifle was taken
from my shoulder.
Just then an explosion took place which shook the
earth. It was up towards the Frisco Mill. The rifle
shooting was still going on, but it soon ceased.
In about 20 minutes Mrs. Shipley pulled the trunk from
the hole, and putting her head down in it, cried: "Oh,
Mr. Allison, run for your life. They have just blown
up the Frisco Mill and killed lots of men and now
they're coming after you to burn you at the stake, so
as to make an example of Dickenson detectives." Crawl
ing nearer to the hole I asked Mrs. Shipley how she had
found this out. She replied that Mrs. Weiss, a strong
union woman, who was a friend of mine while I was in
the union, had just told her when she went across the
street to find out the cause of the explosion. I told Mrs.
Shipley to keep cool and put the trunk back over the
hole. It was explained to her that I could find no way
to get out, hence must stay.
Soon I could hear the yelling of more than 1,000 throats
as they came to get me. It wasn't long until the street
was jammed with angry men. I was directly under the
center of our store and could hear the leaders command-
160 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ing Mrs. Shipley to open the door, but she refused to
do it. Then they broke it down and the mob rushed in.
I could hear Dallas' voice demanding- that she tell where
I was, but she denied having seen me since the night
before. He told her that they knew better, as Miss Olsen
had seen me crawl through the window, since which time
a heavy guard had been kept around the house. I heard
Mrs. Shipley ask why they wanted me. Then Dallas re
plied: "He's a dirty Dickenson detective and we intend
to burn him at a stake as a warning to others of his
kind." Mrs. Shipley asked why they didn't kill me
yesterday when they had a good chance. To this Dallas
replied: "The time wasn't ripe yesterday, but it is now
and we will find him, so you might as well tell us or it
will go hard with you." Mrs. Shipley then told them
to do their worst, as she didn't know where I was. I
felt like patting the lady on the back, as one out of 10,000
who wouldn't weaken and tell the secret with that
vicious mob around her. I feared the child would tell, as
he was bawling as though his little five-year-old heart
would break.
Now I could hear "We'll find the . He's in this
house," etc. Then a rush was made into Mrs. Shipley's
bedroom and out into the back yard and also upstairs.
I couldn't help but think of what a fine chance I was
missing for making a world's record as a man-killer ; for
had I carried out my first plan, this was the moment as
the rush was being made upstairs, when there would
have been "something doing."
As I feared they might find the hole in the floor and
then set fire to the building, I concluded to get out of
there, even though I had to fight my way out.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 161
The only opening was under the sidewalk, which was
about a foot above the ground. I had no idea where it
would lead me, but I thought of the old saying, "Nothing
risked, nothing gained."
Finally I started east, towards the Miners' Union hall.
The store buildings were built close together, except at
my building where there was a narrow alleyway lead
ing to the rear. It was in this narrow passage where
Dallas had his policeman's beat that morning. I had to
crawl on my stomach, "all same" snake in the grass ; but I
had to move very slowly as I was afraid of being seen by
the angry men who lined the sidewalk as thick as they
could stand. Some of the cracks in the sidewalk were an
inch or more wide. After going the width of two store
buildings, I stopped to rest, and while doing so, I lay
on my back so as to look up through a wide crack. I
could see the men's eyes and hear what they said. Most
of their talk was about the "scabs" killed when they
blew up the Frisco Mill with giant powder. Finally one
big Irishman with a brogue as broad as the Atlantic
Ocean, said: "Faith and why don't they bring that
spalpeen out. I'm wanting to spit in his face, the dirty
thraitor. We Emericans have got to shtand on our
rights and show the worreld that we can fight." Of
course I could have told this good "Emerican" citizen
the reason for the delay in bringing me out to be burnt at
a stake ; and I could also have told him that he was then
missing a good opportunity of spitting in my face, while
alive, for my mind had been made up not to be taken
until dead.
This was a hint for me to be moving, knowing that I
was exploring new territory,
u
162 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Another twenty-five feet brought me in front of a
saloon, and here I found an opening to get under the
building, which was built on piles and stood about four
feet from the ground. In the rear I could see daylight.
At this my heart leaped with joy. The ground was
covered with slush 'and mud and there were all kinds
of tree-tops, stumps and brush under this building.
In hurrying through this brush, my watch-chain caught
and tore loose. On it was a charm, a $3 gold piece with
my initials C. L. A. I hated to lose this, so stopped to
consider as to whether I should go back to hunt it. While
studying, I wondered if I was scared. I had to smile at
the thought, so I concluded to test the matter by spitting;
but bless you, my mouth was so dry I couldn't spit any
thing but cotton, or what looked like cotton. I decided
that it was a case of scared with a big S. I had always
heard that when a person is badly frightened he can't
spit; but this was the first time I ever saw it tested.
A week or so later I bought the watch-chain and charm
from a boy who had found it while the union had "kids"
searching for me under these buildings on the day of
the riot. When the chain was found, I suppose they
figured that the bird had flown, all but this relic of his
breast-feathers.
On reaching the rear of the saloon, I found plenty of
room to get out in the open, but before making the break,
I examined my rifle and pistol to see that they were in
working order.
All ready, I sprung from under the house and stood
once more in (glorious sunshine. The Winchester was
up, ready for action. Only three men were in sight and
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 163
their backs were towards me. They stood at the cor
ner of the saloon building, looking up a vacant space to
wards the main street. They had evidently been placed
behind these buildings to watch for me, but in their
eagerness to be at the burning, they were watching the
crowd in the street, knowing that the movements of the
mob would indicate when the "fatted calf" was ready
for the slaughter. My first impulse was to start shooting
and kill these three men, but my finer feeling got the
best of me. It would be too much like taking advantage
and committing cold-blooded murder.
I glanced straight south. There, in front of me, about
fifty yards distant, was the high railroad grade which
shut off the view from the Gem mill where I knew my
friends awaited me. But to undertake to scale this high
grade I would be placing myself between two fires, for the
chances were, my friends would take me for an enemy
and start shooting.
Quicker than a flash the thought struck me to fool
these three men and make them think I was going up
to the top of the grade to get a shot at the "scabs."
A little to the left there was a swift stream of water
flowing through a culvert under the railroad grade, and
to avoid being shot by my friends I concluded to go
through this and sink or swim.
I started in a slow run, half stooped like a hunter
slipping upon game, as though intending to crawl up on
the grade and get a shot at the enemy, my course being
a few feet to the right of the boxed culvert. I didn't
look back, as I knew my footsteps would attract the
attention of the three men, and I didn't want them to see
164 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
my face or to note that my movements were suspicious.
When within a few feet of the rushing water, I made
a quick turn to the left and into the culvert. Just then
one bullet whizzed past my head. This was the only shot
fired. It was all I could do to stem the force of the
water, which reached to my arm-pits. The Winchester
was now in my left hand while my right extended for
ward holding on to the upright timber on the west wall
of the culvert. After I had worked my way far enough
into this culvert so that I was in the dark and out of sight
of my enemy, I braced myself against an upright timber
and turned around to look back. There in plain view,
were three drunken Swedes trying to see me so as to
get another shot. Now I held the winning hand, and
raised my rifle to take advantage of my opportunity;
but my heart failed me at the thought of murdering a
drunken Swede, for I had found them to be a hard-work
ing lot of sheep who were always ready to follow heart
less Irish leaders. I also thought of the danger of shoot
ing, as the flash from my rifle would indicate my where
abouts and shots might be fired in that direction. Al
though from the way these Swedes or Finlanders were
staggering around, I didn't think they could shoot very
straight. I began to work my way to daylight on the
other side, a distance of about fifty feet. I would reach
ahead and get hold of an upright timber and then pull
myself forward against the raging torrent. I finally
emerged from the culvert and found myself under a
Swede's house, which was built over the opposite end of
this culvert, with the entrance to the house fronting on
the railroad track. On walking from under the house,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 165
which was built on piles, a Swede woman at her back
door recognized me. She called me by name and asked
what I had been doing under her house. Her husband
had been one of my best union friends. I told her that
I was just prowling around a little for exercise. She
laughed.
Now I had to march across a 2OO-yard open space to
reach the Gem mill and I had to take chances of being
shot at by both sides.
On reaching the "scab" forts — high ricks of cordwood
with port holes — I was halted by a voice behind the
woodpile which said : "Drop that gun you and walk
up here with your hands up." I replied that I was a
friend. He answered: "It don't make a d d bit of
difference; if you don't drop that gun your head goes
off." I dropped it, and with both hands raised, I walked
up to the port hole which was made by a stick of the wood
being pulled out. The fellow then told me to pull off my
hat so he could see my face. I did so, and he said : "Are
you that detective who came to our camp last night?"
I replied yes. Then he told me to hurry and get behind
the fort before the union took a shot at me. It was
a relief to get behind the fort and shake hands with the
Thiel guards there.
From here I went to the concentrator, or mill, where
I found Superintendent John Monihan and a crowd,
among them being Fred Carter, a wild and woolly cow
boy who had been in the Frisco Mill blow-up and had
run the gauntlet through a shower of bullets to reach this
haven of safety. One bullet had torn the heel off one
boot and crippled his heel, and another knocked one
166 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
knuckle off his right hand. I afterwards saw the bullet-
marks in the railroad ties where this fellow ran along
the railroad track. No doubt 50 to 100 shots had been
fired at him. He was the only man who escaped. The
others who were not killed or wounded were taken
prisoners.
This fellow Carter, had brought in bunches of "scabs"
and I saw his courage tested on several occasions. He
was not afraid of man nor the devil, when he had half a
chance.
Shortly after my arrival at the Gem mine, a union man
under a flag of truce, in the shape of a white rag, came
to tell Monihan that if he didn't surrender in a given
time the Gem Mill would suffer the same fate as the
Frisco Mill by being blown up. Monihan refused to
surrender, and the fellow went back.
Soon we could see squads of men going around over
the mountains back of the mill towards the main tunnel
of the mine, up the side of the heavily timbered mountain,
from whence a tramway was run to conduct the ore into
the mill. Monihan and I decided that they intended to
capture the mine-tunnel and then turn a tramway car
loaded with dynamite and a burning fuse, down the side
of the mountain into the mill. This had been done, so
Fred Carter told us, at the Frisco Mill, but they failed
to make the fuse long enough and the charge went off
before reaching the mill, and as to how the Frisco Mill
was finally blown up, was then a mystery to Carter.
In order to offset a scheme of this kind, I suggested
to Monihan that I go with some men half way up the
tramway and there tie some heavy poles across the rails
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 167
in order to ditch a car if sent down. A couple of men
were sent with me. On reaching the station over the
mill I discovered that one of the men supposed to be
guarding this part of the works was a union spy, and I
so reported to Monihan later. Though I didn't know it
for a fact, I felt confident of it. About twelve years
later the fellow confessed it to me. His name was
Oscar W.
After tying the poles across the track, we continued
on to the tunnel, being exposed to union bullets, as we
could be seen from town.
At the tunnel I found among our guards, a rank union
man who had been a shift-boss. I knew this fellow's
record in the union. He acted sheepish as though he
knew that I would tell Monihan of his past record, which
I did.
Shortly after my return to the mill, Monihan received
orders through Ed. Kinney, French and Campbell's con
fidential secretary, to surrender to the union in order to
save their valuable mill from being blown up. Ed. Kin
ney who had been passing back and forth under a flag
of truce, had received this message over the wires.
Monihan asked my advice. I told him it was a bad mis
take, as it placed the lives of all his men and himself at
the mercy of a lot of cut-throats. He agreed that I was
right, but said in the face of his orders he would have
to surrender. I told him that I would never surrender
alive, and that I would fight it out alone.
A young man by the name of Frank Stark, who had
come in as a guard with Joe Warren and the first batch
of non-union men, asked me if he couldn't stay with
168 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
me. He said he didn't care to risk his life by surrender
ing. As he had an honest face and seemed to be made
of good material, I consented.
We then bade Monihan farewell and slipped through
the heavy timber and brush up a side canyon towards
the top of the mountain to the southwest. We knew
that the union had armed guards all around us, as they
could be seen moving to and fro. On reaching a secluded
spot on the side of the mountain from whence could be
seen Gem and the union miners, we waited to see the
surrender. Monihan and his 120 to 130 men marched
to the depot platform and surrendered their arms to the
union officials. Then we could hear loud cheering by the
unionists. Finally all the prisoners were lined up in
rows and a committee seemed to be examining them. I
afterwards learned that it was Dallas and his gang
searching for me ; that after they had looked at the face
of each man Dallas remarked : "The must have gone
over the hill." Then I heard men were sent to guard
the approaches into Wallace.
While sitting here resting, I realized for the first time
that I was hungry, for all I had eaten since supper the
night before, was a sandwich and cup of coffee which
Mrs. Shipley had put down into the hole for me, and it
was in the middle of the afternoon now.
On reaching the top of the mountain range, we dis
covered three armed men standing in our trail, a foot
path over the mountain. They were on the summit of
the mountain and we dare not go below them to get past,
for we could be seen. Here I got my 2 by 4 brain to
working and soon studied up a scheme that might work
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 169
without having to kill them. I laid my plan before Stark
and he agreed to follow my instructions, which were as
follows: To crawl just as near as possible to the men
and then both take aim at separate ones. Then I was to
say in a voice loud enough to be heard by them : "Now
you shoot the on the right and I'll kill the one on
the left," and then if they raised their guns to fight, we
were to shoot and fight it out to a finish.
It worked like a charm, and we could hear the brush
cracking where they were falling and rolling down the
steep gulch to the right. We laughed until our sides
hurt.
That night, just after dark, we reached the wagon road
half a mile above Wallace. It was a relief to get in a
smooth road after traveling so long through brush and
fallen timber. We had traveled about ten miles the way
we had come, and were worn out.
Just before reaching a high rocky point on the bank
of the river, a few hundred yards above the depot, on
the edge of Wallace, we discovered four men with rifles
guarding the road, two being on one side and two on
the other, about fifty feet apart. No doubt these men were
guards sent to watch for me. Now it was a case of going
miles around through the hills or to risk a fight with these
four men. Stark agreed to leave the matter to my judg
ment. I decided to fight rather than quit the road, but
I told Stark not to shoot until I said fire. He was to
take charge of the two on the left of the road while I
took care of the other two. They didn't see us until
we were within fifty feet of them. We kept the middle
of the road, I watching my men, and Stark his. After
170 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
passing them we kept watch over our shoulders. They
hadn't spoken or moved until we got passed them. Then
my two ran over to the other two. We were soon around
the high rocky point in the glare of the electric lights at
the depot. Here it was as light as day, and I saw we
were in a bad place.
I jumped down the bank and into the swift stream,
Stark following. The water struck us about the waist
and the stream was about forty feet wide. Reaching a
dark place in the timber on the opposite bank we sat
down to await results. But we didn't have a minute to
wait, as the four men came running around thebluff. When
they reached the full electric lighted space to the depot
a few hundred yards distant, and didn't see us, they were
puzzled. It was comical to see their maneuvers. Their
actions showed that they never suspected the truth. Their
whole minds seemed to be centered on the high cliff to
the right of the road, as though we had hid in some crev
ice. They knew we didn't have time to have reached the
depot, the first building. In a few minutes three of them
started back to their post while the other ran as hard
as he could to town. We then hurried through the timber
to the rear of the Carter Hotel, which had been the stop
ping place for mine owners. Stark was secreted in a
dark place to shoot whoever undertook to harm me.
I knocked on the rear door and the porter came out.
I asked who of the mine owners were there. He replied
that all the mine owners but Mr. Goss had "flew the
coop" on a special train, but that Mr. Monihan and Mr.
Goss a millionaire mine owner, from Wisconsin, who
owned a big share of the Morning mine at Mullen, were
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 171
upstairs in their rooms. I told him to tell them that Alli
son wanted to see them at the head of the back stairs.
Soon both appeared greatly excited. They begged me
to skip out and get away from the hotel as they would be
murdered if I were found there. They said the union
men were scouring the country for me. Here I shook
hands and bade them goodbye.
We then "sneaked" into French and, Campbell's private
quarters where I knew Ed. Kinney and young Harry
Allen, the bookkeeper, slept. Both were there and tickled
to see us, but they feared the union had guards watch
ing the place and might have seen us come in through
the rear gate. So for that reason, we concluded not to
waste any time telling funny stories; but we remained
long enough to fill up on sardines and crackers and to
put on dry underclothes. Then we struck out up a side
canyon towards the southwest for "tall timber," there to
await future results.
Thus the first act in the great Coeur D'Alene miners'
strike of 1892 ends.
CHAPTER VIII
UNITED STATES TROOPS FILL THE "BULL-PEN" WITH
MINERS' UNION DYNAMITERS — MY EVIDENCE CON
VICTS EIGHTEEN OF THE UNION LEADERS.
On reaching a place of safety on the heavily timbered
mountain side about three miles from Wallace, Stark and
I lay down to sleep on the ground, using the sky to cov
er us.
Towards noon the next day we found the cabin of a
sourkrout dutchman whom I knew as a friend to the
mine owners. Though a member of the union, he was
opposed to the way the Miners' unions were conducted;
therefore I concluded to risk entering his cabin in order
to get something to eat. We found the kind-hearted fel
low at home alone, and he was fearful lest the union find
out that he had fed us. He knew me as secretary of the
Gem union, and had heard through his Irish partner that
I had turned out to be a "traitor."
This Irishman partner was a rank union man and had
gone to take part in the riot at Gem, and now he was
expected back any moment, so for that reason, we were
put in a stone cabin nearby and given a key so as to
lock ourselves in, while waiting for "Dutchy" to cook
us something to eat.
Soon after the steaming coffee and food were set be
fore us in our hiding place, the dynamiter partner re
turned with glowing accounts of the murdering of
172
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 173
"scabs," etc. He was worn out from his long siege and af
ter filling up, was soon asleep. Then our German friend
came to tell us to keep quiet for awhile, as his partner
was going back to Wallace when he finished his nap.
Stark and I then took a nap ourselves, as we knew no one
could get at us without waking us up. Still, mine were
•:at-naps, as I feared that "Dutchy" and "Micky" might
conspire to blow us into kingdom-come with giant
powder, or else warn the union of our presence there.
Late in the evening "Micky" went back to Wallace to
help uphold the principles of his noble union, and then
Stark and I with a supply of grub and an old coffee pot,
struck out again for "tall timber."
This time we climbed the mountain side for a mile,
east. Here in a secluded spot in the heavy timber and
underbrush, we built an Indian "wickiup" to shelter us
from the rain which was falling, and that night we slept
the sleep of the just.
Next morning we tramped north nearly to the edge of
Wallace, secreting ourselves on the top of a round moun
tain overlooking the town. Here we had a free show
which couldn't be beat for money. It was grand, viewed
from a distance; especially one of the last acts wherein
a tall lanky pilgrim was the "fall guy," though he didn't
take time to fall. He just hit the high places, twenty feet
to the jump.
It was the unions' grand day of reckoning with all
"scabs," and business men who had opposed union prin
ciples in the past. They were gathered up in small droves
and taken to the railroad yards and there told to "hit the
road" for Spokane, Wash., about seventy-five miles dk-
174 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
tant ; and to give them a good start, the union men would
fire over their heads. In running, some would fall and
turn somersaults, but not so with the lanky individual
with the stove-pipe hat and valise. At the first mile-post
this tall man was leading the herd by at least 200 yards,
and besides, he was handicapped with a big valise.
At the funny things which happened during the day,
Stark and I split our sides laughing.
Late in the afternoon the union men captured a rail
road train, and in a body, went to bury their dead.
Some union Knights of Pythias wanted to bury Ivory
Bean, the man whom I saw shot through the heart, un
der the rules of the order, but the union wouldn't allow
it. He had to be buried as a "scab," so far as the unions
were concerned. This we heard later.
That night Stark and I slept in our "wickiup" again.
Next morning we returned to our lookout mountain,
and late in the evening saw train-loads of United States
soldiers and State militia arrive from the State of Wash
ington. It was indeed a grand sight to me, and for the
first time in my life did I realize the value of our troops.
When the large American flag was planted near the
Carter hotel my heart broke loose from its mooring,
where it had been hitched under the Confederate flag of
my babyhood. Stark and I gave three cheers for the
Star Spangled Banner of our united country, and deep
down in my heart I made a vow to die and bleed, if nec
essary, to uphold the honor of this flag.
Throwing a kiss of farewell back at our "wickiup" and
coffee pot, we started on a run down the mountain-side
for the Carter hotel. Arriving within a quarter of a mile
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 175
of the hotel and soldiers' camp, on the outskirts of the
heavy timber, I concluded to do a little detective work at
the home of French Pete, a rank union man who had
built a fine home on the hill, south of the Carter hotel.
Pete had married an Irish mother-in-law, and it was on
this old Irish woman that I got in my fine work.
I had cached Stark, with his rifle across a log, ready
to shoot, while I went to French Pete's home to learn the
news and to get all the information possible about union
matters. The Irish mother-in-law and her young son-in-
law greeted me in the yard. I gave an assumed name,
and wondered what we Miners' union men would do now
that the dirty cut-throat soldiers had arrived. I won the
old lady's heart, and she slobbered over me as a poor tired
union miner who had fought a noble cause.
I asked if there was any danger of President O'Brien
and the officers of the Central union being arrested by the
soldiers. She replied no, that they would never find
them as they were hiding in her (Mrs. Hollihan's) cellar
down town. Here the old lady went into the house and
got the late daily Spokane Review, and Spokesman, for
me. I then went out to my supposed union friend be
hind the log and she and her son-in-law followed. There
I read the big head-lines aloud. They told of the riot
and the blowing up of the Frisco mill and the killing of
"scabs" and the capture of John Monihan and his 130 or
more armed men, and how the next day they were
marched in a body to the Wallace bank to draw their
wages and savings, and then with all their cash, they were
taken on a train to the head of the Coeur D'Alene lake at
which point they had to board a steamer for the other
176 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
side of the lake; and that while waiting for the steamer
at the Mission about dusk, they were fired into by the
union men and many shot and robbed of their money;
John Monihan being among the missing ; also that a train-
load of United States troops had been sent on the first
day of the riot from Missoula, Mont., but that the union
men of Butte City and the Coeur D'Alene blew up the
bridges so they couldn't get through; so that they had
to go around through Oregon and Washington.
Of course we all cheered at this good news against
"scabs." Then Stark and I bade our friends goodby, and
started ostensibly for Placer Creek where the Dutchman
and his Irish partner lived.
On getting out of sight in the heavy timber, we lay
down and watched Mrs. Hollihan who had just come up
to visit her daughter, French Pete's wife. In a few
moments she came out of the house and with an old-
country stride of four feet to the stretch, she hurried
down to her own home, and on arriving there, as I
learned afterwards, she told her guests, the union leaders,
that she had just met two poor union men who looked
tired and worn out. She was asked to describe these two
men, which she did. On describing me as being pitted
with smallpox, President O'Brien spoke up and said:
"Why, that's that detective Allison that we have
been scouring the hills to find," or words to that effect.
Then a runner was sent down town to gather a crowd
of union men to go on our trail and head us off and cap
ture us. A large crowd was sent up the creek on the run,
to scour the woods back to the point where the old lady
had seen us. This crowd running up the creek armed,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 177
created an excitement, and some one friendly to the mine
owners, learned that they were after me. Then General
Carlin, commander of the United States troops, was no
tified and he sent a detail of twenty-five soldiers on the
double-quick up the creek to rescue us. The soldiers
were given a good description of Yours Truly.
It was just dusk when Stark and I presented ourselves
to General Carlin in the Carter hotel. When he heard
my name he said : "Why,- you are the man we sent out
twenty-five soldiers half an hour ago to rescue. Of
course this was news to me, though next day I learned
the whole truth of the affair, as outlined above. Then
General Carlin sent runners out to bring in the soldiers,
as the lost had been found. It was late when the last
ones returned. They reported seeing many armed men
whom they couldn't capture owing to the heavy brush.
I told of President O'Brien being hid at Mrs. Holli-
han's house, and a squad of soldiers were sent to sur
round the place, with the result that President O'Brien,
Joe Poynton and others of the union leaders were cap
tured. But Dallas was not among the prisoners, who
were fixing to change their hiding place when the sol
diers got there. He had no doubt gone with the crowd to
capture me, and thus saved his bacon, as he was never
caught.
Stark and I slept soundly that night in the Carter hotel,
with the glorious American flag waving over our heads,
and a thousand bayonets to insure our safety.
Next day Dr. Simms was made marshal of the whole
Coeur D'Alene district, under military rule, the district
having been put under marshal law ; and I was made one
of his chief deputies.
u
178 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
As I knew all the agitators and union leaders, I was
kept busy for the next week or so putting unruly cattle in
the "bull pen," a large stockade with a frame building in
the center, for them to sleep and eat in.
We scoured the country to the Montana line. General
Carlin refused to follow them over the line, out of Idaho.
In less than a week we had 300 "bulls" in the corral. A
word from me would liberate any of them and many were
let go, as I knew the bad ones. Instead of burning me
at a stake, they were now begging me for mercy, that is,
a great many of them.
My friend, Geo. A. Pettibone, was not captured for a
few days. He was hid up in the mountains wounded by
being struck with a boomerang. He had touched off the
fuse that blew up the Frisco mill, causing the death and
maiming of many men.
After they had sent a car of giant powder down the
mountain and it blew up before reaching the mill, they
tried a new scheme. High up on the mountain-side there
was a large wooden flume and from this to the water-
wheel in the mill, there was a large iron pipe called a pen
stock, to conduct water to run the mill machinery. As
the mill was not then running, there was no water in the
penstock. In order to reach the upper end of this pen
stock, the water was let out of the large wooden flume,
and along its bottom, Geo. A. Pettibone and his gang of
three or four men walked. Then bundles of giant powder
were dropped into the penstock and found lodgment at the
bottom, inside the mill. When they thought enough had
been sent down, Pettibone touched a match to a fuse at
tached to the last bundle. He made the fuse long enough
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 179
so that it wouldn't go off till it reached the bottom among
the other bundles.
Now, Judge Geo. A. Pettibone, the learned justice of
the peace, of Gem, had a fine head for dishing out union
justice and for crawling up a hollo'.v tree of small caliber,
but not for scenting a boomerang. He remained in the
flume with his ear at the mouth of the penstock so as to
hear the joyful sound of the explosion when it should
take place.
Pettibone went up in the treetops and his companion
picked him up outside of the flume, where he came down
with a shattered hand and other injuries. He hadn't
studied concussion in his school books. If he had, he
would have known that the shock of the explosion would
come back up the penstock.
In this explosion at the Frisco mill, many lives were
saved from the fact that most of the seventy-five or more
guards and non-union miners were at the further side of
the mill building, shooting at union men on the opposite
side of the mountain, from where Pettibone and his small
gang were doing their work.
In rounding up these unruly cattle with squads of sol
diers, I had some narrow escapes. Once in Burk it looked
scary for me, as I only had a few soldiers and the miners
were very angry at me. All they lacked was a leader to
make a break for my scalp.
To show how I was hated by the miners in the bull-pen,
I will quote the headlines from the "Barbarian" news
paper :
"Allison went into the bull-pen and a rush was made
for him. He had to draw his pistol. His presence in
180 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
their midst had the same effect as a red flag on angry
bulls."
I made one trip with a train load of soldiers with Gen
eral Carlin in active command, to the line of Montana,
where Jack Lucy, "Long Shorty" and a large gang of
dynamiters had a fort built on top of a mountain. From
the train to the foot of the mountain, Lieutenant Page had
charge. After marching about a mile it was found im
possible to reach the enemy's fort in a body, owing to
brush and fallen timber. Therefore, we had to return
empty-handed. But on the trip I learned a lesson in mili
tary training. Funny things happened, which would have
made a stone idol grin, but not so with General Carlin.
He would never crack a smile. On making inquiry, I
found that at the military schools he had learned to set
the brakes on his mouth, at will.
In Gem, Capt. J. W. Bubb had charge of a company of
United States troops, and I did much of my work through
him. He would furnish me a squad of soldiers whenever
I asked for them.
In my dealings with soldiers I found out the difference
between "raw recruits" and "seasoned veterans." In go
ing through old tunnels and caves, searching for dyna
miters, the boys in the state militia would squat and often
jump at the least noise, while, if I said the word, half a
dozen United States soldiers would march right into a
dark place where dozens of the enemy were supposed to
be hidden. I would be right behind them and could note
their maneuvers. A dozen bats or "bloody howls" could
fly past their heads and they would never change their
course or alter their steps.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 181
On my first visit to Gem, after the soldiers came in, it
was comical to see the surprise of Mrs. Shipley's little
boy. He almost had a "duck fit" on seeing me. He sup
posed I was still down in that hole under the floor, and
his mother said that he couldn't eat a meal without sav
ing some for Mr. Allison. This he would drop down in
to the hole. Bless his little baby heart, wherever he might
be. I have lost track of him and his mother, but I want
them to know that my last crust of bread or dollar is
theirs for the asking, should they ever be in need.
Of course, after marshal-law was declared, the mine
owners and deported business men came back.
Joe McDonald, a brave man and a fighter, took charge
of the Frisco mine.
After the soldiers came, John Monihan also returned.
He told of his narrow escape at the Mission while wait
ing for the steamer to take them to Coeur D'Alene City.
He said they were all sitting around on the grass, about
250 of them, under the guard of a few union men, when
just about dusk a squad of union dynamiters, under the
leadership of Bill Black, who was later shot and sent to
the penitentiary, came swooping down on the defenseless
men shooting and robbing them right and left. The mur
derers were on horseback. John Monihan and Percy
Summers jumped into the water and swam to an island,
thus saving themselves.
At the point where the shooting took place, the river
is very deep, and after dark a wounded man, Abbott, who
was hidden in the tall grass said he saw the union men
rob several dead bodies and then cut open their stomachs,
so they would sink, and dump them into the river.
182 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
After the count, fourteen "scabs" were missing and
some of them have never turned up to this day, and the
supposition is that they were the ones sunk in the river.
Most of the "scabs," who gave up their money without
protest, were liberated. Some had a year's savings in
their pockets, as many had been working for a long time
under union rules, but had turned to be "scabs" after the
strike.
Many times I visited the States' hospital in Wallace
and talked with the non-union men wounded in Gem, and
in the Fourth-of-July canyon on the lake. To see some
of these poor fellows shot through the body, and others
with their heads split open, would melt the heart of a
stone man, and make him resolve to fight this kind of
unionism to the last ditch.
One poor fellow seventy-five years old, lay with his
head cracked open and his face and body pounded to a
jelly, and this was done after he had surrendered, when
the Frisco mill was blown up. And other men served in
the same manner lay by his side, almost at the point of
death.
This dastardly work was done under the leadership of
Paddy Burke and Dan Connor, two of my brothers of the
Gem union. All honor to the Irishman who had the man
hood to stop these cut-throats and give orders that no
more prisoners be ill-used, at the risk of their own lives.
This Irishman was Peter Breen, a leader of the Butte
City (Mont.) union, who had come over to help in the
riots. I afterwards saw him sulking in the Wallace jail,
and I felt like giving him my hand for his noble act, even
though he had himself trampled the Constitution of the
United States under his big brogans.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 183
The old man referred to above, told me how he had
come from California to work in the Frisco mine to save
his little home from being sold under mortgage, over his
old wife's head, and tears streamed down his bruised face
as he told it. Furthermore, he was an American-bred citi
zen, while the men who beat him up were every one for
eigners of the lowest order.
Finally, I had to go on a stage cpp.ch to Murray, the
county seat of Shoshone county, Idaho, this being the
county in which the Coeur D'Alene mining district is situ
ated, to appear before the grand jury against union riot
ers.
Murray is an old gold camp across a range of moun
tains, and is made up of a good class of American citi
zens, many of them being old Grand Army men. So, for
that reason the grand jury brought in many indictments.
Charlie O'Neal was the prosecuting attorney for the
county, and he worked faithfully to get indictments,
though he said he knew it would be utterly impossible to
convict a union man in the local courts, and he was right,
for the strongest case was tried first, as a test. It was
against Webb Leasier, the man who was seen to fire the
bullet through Ivory Bean's heart. O'Neal had witnesses
who saw Leasier fire the shot, and still he failed to con
vict.
While in Murray, and before I had appeared before the
grand jury, the deputy sheriff in charge at that point un
der Dr. Simms, told me after supper one night, that he
and his guards could not be responsible for my safety, as
there was a well-laid plan to kidnap me by force. He said
he had just got a tip from a reliable party who had seen
184 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
a large crowd of union outlaws up the creek several
miles, and from this gang of union men, about 300, the
informant found out their intention of capturing the town
of Murray in order to get me. This deputy appeared to
be very nervous over the matter, and he hired several ex
tra men to do guard duty, but said he had no hope of
standing off a large gang of desperate men. He advised
me to look out for myself and not depend on him.
There were no soldiers in Murray, <and the town was
filled with union men to act as witnesses for their side;
therefore I felt a little shaky. Still, I figured that possi
bly it was a bluff to frighten me so I wouldn't remain to
testify before the grand jury.
That night and every night following, until all my evi
dence was in the hands of the grand jury, I stayed awake
and sat up on the mountain side overlooking the town,
with my Winchester rifle ready for action. I would pretend
to retire to my room for the night, not telling a soul of
my intentions ; then I would slip down the back stairs and
up the mountain side. Next morning I would return to
the hotel at daylight and slip into my room.
After I had testified before the grand jury, I was told
that Dallas and his gang were laying for me on the road
to capture me when I returned on the stage to Wallace.
No doubt there was truth in this report, for the stage
drivers told of men stopping the stage as though to see
who were aboard. Each side of the road was covered
with a dense growth of timber and underbrush, so that it
would have been an easy matter to capture the stage at a
given signal that I was a passenger. But I fooled them
by hiring a saddle-horse to take a little exercise one even-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 185
ing, and that night I "hit the road" for Wallace on horse
back, a distance of about twenty miles.
Finally I was called to Coeur D'Alene City, Idaho, to
testify in Judge Jas. H. Beatty's United States court
against leaders of the Miners' union.
Before leaving Gem, I had the pleasure of seeing my
little daughter, Viola, though no one was to know that
she was my child.
Mr. Will F. Read had sold his home in Anna, 111., and
come out to Gem for his wife's health, on the strength of
my advice. He then bought out Mrs. Shipley's interest
in our store and became my partner. I agreed to give him
half the profits from the rent of the twelve furnished
rooms, which were now all occupied with non-union men,
and a barber shop adjoining the store, for his trouble in
running the place. Therefore, on leaving, I turned over
to Mr. and Mrs. Read all my rights in Gem, including
the good-will interest in Miss Gertrude Hull, a pretty
young lady whom I rounded up in Spokane to clerk in
our store. I had gone to Spokane City on this special
round-up, and of [course I roped in the prettiest girl I
could find.
For the next few months my name was in the papers a
good deal, as I was the star-witness against the leaders
of the miners' union. Many people came to Coeur
d'Alene City especially to hear my evidence.
The United States' prosecuting attorney was Freemont
Wood, and a Mr. F. B. Crossthwaite from the Depart
ment of Justice in Washington, D. C, assisted.
The Mine Owners' Association employed Attorney
Hagen and W. B. Heyburn, now a United States senator
from Idaho, to assist in the prosecutions.
186 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
We also tried a batch of the dynamite leaders in Boise
City, the capital of Idaho, in Judge Beatty's court there.
During these trials I had to keep wide awake, as it was
known that the miners' union had turned me over to the
Irish "Clan-na-gaels" to be killed, so that my evidence
would not be used against President O'Brien and the
other leaders.
In Boise City I received a "tip" that Kelly and four
"Clan-na-gael" members of the Butte City, Montana
union, who it was said had charge of assassinating Editor
Penrose for opposing their union, a short time previous,
would come to get me out of the way. The "tip" came
from a man on the inside. Kelly and his four companions
came to Boise by the time court opened, but they were
pointed out to me, and their usefulness to the dynamite
society was spoiled.
The Butte City, Montana, and Coeur d'Alene unions had
employed one-armed Pat Reddy from California and Ne
vada, to protect their side. He was a noted criminal law
yer, and he and I had some hot tilts while I was on the
witness stand, both at Coeur d'Alene City and at Boise,
The "Barbarian" newspaper and others, came out with
big headlines of how Siringo- Allison paralyzed Reddy and
had him fighting mad. In Boise, Reddy frothed at the
mouth and shook his fist in my face, but I only smiled.
Judge Beatty upheld me. Attorney James Hawley, of
Boise, a nice fellow, was employed to assist Reddy. The
unions also had two other lawyers of smaller caliber.
We succeeded in convicting eighteen union leaders,
among them being my friend, Judge Geo. A. Pettibone,
who had recovered from his fly up in the tree-tops at the
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 187
Frisco mill explosion. He received a sentence of two
years in the United States prison at Detroit, Mich.
I was really sorry for the "honorable president" of the
Coeur d'Alene Central Union, Mr. O'Brien. He was not
a bad man at heart, but his head had gone wrong through
taking the advice of such men as Joe Poynton and
"Judge" Pettibone.
I shall never believe that nature intended Mr.
O'Brien to wear prison stripes, but every one of the other
seventeen, with the exception of Dan Harrington, de
served hanging, among them being an ex-prize fighter,
Tom Whalen, who did a noble deed when he shot Bill
Black through the body in a drunken brawl. Had he
killed Black, who led the charge in the Fourth-of-July
canyon on Monihan and his helpless victims, several lives
would have been saved.
Thomas Eaton, old man Mike Divine, "Spud" Murphy,
C. Sinclair, Joe Poynton, Tom Whalen and John Nichol
son, were among those convicted as leaders of the miners'
union.
The peculiar twist in the names of all these convicted
men would indicate that they were not Swedes, Chinamen
or Scandinavians.
It was late in the fall when in Wallace, Idaho, I closed
the operation and started back to Denver. I had been on
the operation a year and two months.
I hated to part with my companion, Frank Stark, as we
had become warm friends ; but soon after my departure
he lost one of his legs above the knee from a rifle bullet.
It was done in my building at Gem where he was rooming,
and the rifle was fired accidentally by Johnny Kneebone,
188 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
the "scab" blacksmith, afterwards murdered by the min
ers' union, several members of the union going to his
blacksmith shop at the Gem mine in broad daylight and
shooting him full of holes.
After losing his leg, Stark went to his old home in
Pennsylvania and learned to be an engineer. Since then I
have lost track of him, though I hope he is alive and doing
well ; for he is a prince and there is not a cowardly drop
of blood in his veins.
I arrived in Denver and discontinued the Coeur d'Alene
operation just before Christmas. Superintendent McCart
ney was glad to see me back alive, after the strenuous
life I had been leading.
On several occasions in the Coeur d'Alene I had saved
my life by being handy with the pistol and getting the
drop. I always avoided taking life, though I had the law on
my side. I had a chance once in Coeur d'Alene City during
the trial there, to kill a bad dynamiter right before the
eyes of Prosecuting Attorney Wood, and be upheld by the
law. Also another time on a crowded train between Gem
and Wallace, when Mr. "Mace" Campbell and other mine
owners were present. Some of the tough union men had
raised a "racket" with me. I made them sit down and
kept them covered with my gun till we arrived in Wallace.
Then I had Sheriff Simms throw the leader, a big Irishx
man, in jail for threatening to kill me.
On reaching Denver I started out to have a good time
by spending my money freely. I figured that I could
afford it, as outside of my weekly salary, I was drawing
$135.00 per month from the rent of my Gem, Idaho, build
ing and furnished rooms, besides a good profit from my
half of the store.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 189
But with me, good things don't last long, for one morn
ing early in January, 1893, Miss Mollie Rucker, our cash
ier, handed me a telegram from Mrs. Will F. Read in
Gem, which stated that my building and store had burnt
to the ground and that her husband was in jail for shoot
ing the union dynamiter merchant, Samuels. Thus my
$3,000.00 had taken wings and flown up in smoke, and my
extra income was cut off. I had had $1,500.00 worth of
insurance on the building, but a few weeks before the
fire, $1,000.00 of it was canceled owing to a fear that
the union would set the town afire. The $500.00 of in
surance money was used to pay some debts in Idaho and
to assist the Reads who later joined me in Denver.
While the fire was raging on our side of the street, Will
Read had carried his wife's trunk containing her keep
sakes across the street and put it upon Samuels' store
porch where it would be safe from the fire. Then Samuels
gave the trunk a kick out into the street, as Read was not
liked by the union men on account of his friendship for
me. Read at once went back into the burning building
and got his double-barrel shotgun loaded with buckshot,
and "winged" dynamiter Samuels by shooting his right
arm off at the shoulder; but before doing so, Samuels
fired a couple of shots at Read with a pistol, after Read
had knocked him through his own glass-front store, shat
tering the plate glass.
Barrels of whisky had been rolled out of the burning
saloons, which lay between the Union Hall, where the
fire started and my place, and the union mob were all
drunk on free liquor.
After the shooting Read was knocked down and the
190 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
"scab" Deputy Sheriff Frank Rose secured Read's gun.
The drunken dynamiters seeing their brother with his arm
shattered to threads and Rose with the smoking gun in
his hand, supposed he did the job. Poor Rose tried to ex
plain matters, but he was a "scab" and they wouldn't lis
ten to his pleadings. While they were fixing to hang him,
the truth was explained that Allison's partner shot poor
Samuels. Then Rose was liberated and the mob started
after Read, who by that time, was half way to Wallace.
Arriving in Wallace about 5 130 a. m. Read surrendered
to Sheriff Simms who took him down to the jail as a mat
ter of duty, but forgot and left the jail door open; and he
also forgot and left a Winchester rifle and 100 rounds of
cartridges where Read could get them.
Soon the mob came in sight. Read lay on top of a
stockade with his rifle ready to do business. When with
in a few hundred yards of the jail, Webb Leasier the man
who is said to have killed Ivory Bean, succeeded in stop
ping the mob. He had been pleading with them to let the
law takes its course, as Read was a brother Odd Fellow of
his ; but they wouldn't listen, until finally Webb Leasier got
in front of the leaders with cocked gun, and threatened to
kill the first one who made another step forward. They
knew he meant business, and besides, they loved him as a
good "scab-killer," so they turned back and spoiled Read's
chance of making a glorious name as a slayer of dynamit
ers.
Webb Leasier's action goes to prove that there is some
good in all men, even in murderers.
At the preliminary trial before my friend, Judge Angel,
in Wallace, Read was liberated.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 191
This ends the second and last act of the bloody Coeur
d'Alene strike of 1892, which taught me many new les
sons in my study of human nature.
My only regret is that I couldn't have bottled up that
hole in the floor before it went up in smoke, so as to keep
it as a relic to be handed down to my descendants, to re
mind them of the first time their worthy grandsire had
crawled into a hole in time of danger.
The Coeur d'Alene trouble had been caused through the
miners' union wanting to dictate as to how the mines
should be run. When they made a demand for shorter
hours, and that "muckers" and common roustabouts re
ceive $3.50 per day, the same wages as skilled miners, the
mine-owners closed down the mines and sent out for non
union men.
CHAPTER IX
IN JAIL WITH Two MURDERERS — TESTING RAILWAY
CONDUCTORS — TRAMPING AS A HOBO THROUGH COLO
RADO, NEW MEXICO, ARIZONA, CALIFORNIA AND
TEXAS — ROBBERY OF THE TREADWELL GOLD MILL
IN ALASKA — WE CAPTURE THE THIEVES AND RE
COVER THE GOLD.
From now on I shall merely skim over the surface of
some of my experiences, as I find that one medium size
volume will not contain it all if given in full.
One of my important operations was for the A. & B. C.
Ry. Co. My friends, Doc Shores and Ed Farr, had charge
of the work. And Attorney Charlie Johnson prosecuted
the case.
Dick Manley and Young Anderson had started out on a
robbery crusade, and had killed one man and wounded
another. I spent three weeks in the Pueblo jail with these
two young outlaws and secured a full confession from
them.
In Walsenburg, Colo., I appeared on the witness stand,
with the result that Dick Manley was sentenced to seven
teen years in the penitentiary; but after serving several
years, I used my influence in getting him a pardon from
Governor Mclntire. His sister, Mrs. Birmingham, whose
husband had been a former cowboy companion of mine in
Texas, had pled for Dick's release, as he had promised to
lead an upright life in the future.
192
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 193
Young Manley kept his promise about two months, then
killed a man at Red River City, N. M. A few months lat
er he held up a bank in Breckenridge, Colo., killing two
officers, and being killed himself.
During the years 1893 and '94 I led an exciting life.
About three months of this time I was posing as a
wealthy mining man in Denver, under the name of Chas.
Le Roy. Our client was A.B. Farnum and the victim was
N. D. Lewis, the case being a $25,000 mining suit. Our
side won through Lewis being so foolish as to let me hear
the secret discussions with his lawyers.
While on this operation I hob-nobbed with my friend,
Dan V., of Mudsill mine fame, without his knowing that
I was the same Chas. Leon who had once put him "on the
bum." He was Lewis' chum and adviser.
After finishing the Farnum "case I put on bum clothes
and became one of the unwashed Coxeyites, in Wyoming,
for the Union Pacific Railroad Co.
The Debs' A. R. U. strike was then raging through the
West over the Pullman Car Co. dispute. I saw much
"scab" blood spilled by union sluggers jumping onto un
armed non-union railway employes.
I also put in several months "testing" freight and
passenger conductors all over one of the greatest railroad
systems in Colorado and Texas.
On leaving Denver in a freight caboose, a drunken
Irishman and I had a swift ride down a mountain side
from Hilltop. Three loaded freight cars and the caboose
had broken loose from the train while the crew were at
the station of Hilltop. "Micky's" prayers to the Virgin
Mary, and a white cow asleep on the track, saved our
13
194 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
lives, after going around ten miles of crooked mountain
curves at a gait of about ten miles a minute.
My work took me over ground in the Panhandle of
Texas, where I had run cattle, and many of my old cow
boy chums were met. But I had to tell them whopping
big lies about how I was on the lookout for a "bad" man.
One of my operations was playing hobo and tramping
over the S. T. & G. R. Ry. through Colorado, New Mexi
co, Arizona, California and Texas. The work was being
done for a high official.
I had many new experiences on this trip. At one point
on the Mohave desert, I had been put off a train three
times and had to walk fifteen miles without water. On
this fifteen mile tramp I overtook a crippled Irishman with
red sideburns and the map of the "ould sod" smeared all
over his face. He walked with a stick and carried a small
bundle wrapped in a red handkerchief. I had been walk
ing fast to overtake him so as to have company. We sat
down on the end of the ties to rest, and I asked him what
he was doing out on this desert. He replied that he was
hunting work. I asked if he had lost any work. He
smiled and said : "No, begorry, but I'm going back east
to find a job that will fit me complexion. I was offered a
job last winter in Californy, but I belongs to a union and
I won't work in a state that has so many scab Chinamen.
They can all go to the divel, I won't scab."
We were both panting for a drink of water. Further
on were a house and wind mill half a mile from the
railroad track. This was the first house seen for many
miles. When opposite the ranch, I wanted Irish to go
with me and get a drink of water, but he said he was
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 195
"peetered out" and couldn't stand the tramp over the
grass and sage brush. He asked me to bring him a drink
in a tin can. I then started.
Arriving within a few hundred yards of the house, a tall
man came out holding a bulldog by a chain. In a loud
voice he ordered me off his land or he would turn the dog
loose. I hallooed and told him that I just wanted a drink
of water. He called back that he had no water for me and
that if I didn't move on he would turn the dog loose. The
white dog was making frantic efforts to free himself, and
old Colt's 45 under my left arm where it couldn't be
seen was ready for a struggle too. I had no fear of
the dog, but thought maybe the rancher might have a
long-range rifle in the house ; so I turned back.
On the way to the house I had noticed a few milk cows
in a deep arroyo off to my right and not far from the rail
road track. I angled towards this arroyo, in hopes of
finding a gentle cow among them. On reaching the cattle
I was out of sight from the house. I used diplomacy by
sitting down near the cows so they could get acquainted
with me. They soon came "nosing" around to satisfy
their curiosity. Only one cow would let me go up and rub
her head, and she was a Jersey with a bag full of baby-
food. While she chewed the cud of contentment, I got
down on my knees and milked the fluid into my mouth.
This was no new experience with me, as I had practiced
it for whole days when a little bare-foot boy in Texas, at
times when I was afraid to go home on account of a
promised whipping.
After I was full to overflowing, I went up on high
ground and called Irish. He came and I told him about
196 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
the rancher and the dog, and of what a soft snap the old
cow was. Irish didn't think that he could connect a
stream of milk with his mouth, so I gave him my white
felt hat -to use for a cup by crushing in the crown and us
ing the outside for a vessel. His old straw hat was put
onto my head. When Irish reached the bottom of the
arroyo, the cows raised their heads and tails and flew for
the house. If that isn't luck, what is it? I told Irish that
I thought the cows had smelled his red side-whiskers. He
tried to smile, but was too downhearted.
A walk of five miles brought us to the first little town.
Here I put a "jolt of the critter" — good old red "licker" —
under Irish's belt and then took him to a Chinese restau
rant and filled him up on "scab" grub.
On this operation, which lasted a few months, I had
some narrow escapes and saw many funny sights. Once
I was locked up in a box car loaded with scrap-iron,
and for awhile I sweated blood in fear of a wreck. And
once I had to stand off a crew of railroad men, with my
pistol, who wanted to pound me to death because I was
found among some heavy timbers on one of the freight
cars after I had been put off the same train three times.
On the trip I spent half my salary feeding poor bums
whom I thought deserved pity.
At Isleta Station, twenty-two miles south of Albu
querque, N. M., I found an honest tramp. He was hungry
and wet after having been put off a train during the night
in a rain storm. When I saw him first, early in the morn
ing, he was under the watertank wringing the water from
his clothes. He was a tall, well-built man, and he claimed
to be a son of Judge Caldwell, a once popular judge of
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 197
the Lone Star state, and he said that his widowed mother
then lived in California ; that about a year previous he had
sold a mine in Hillsboro, N. M., for $20,000 and had
gone to Europe to blow in the money ; that now, he was
getting back, flat broke. How much of this story was
"hot air," I had no way of knowing. After the honorable
fool Caldwell had donned his wet clothes I took him up
to the Indian village where I had stopped all night at an
Indian house, and filled him up on tortillas, frijoles and
hot coffee. Then we both boarded a south-bound freight
train, secreting ourselves in a loaded box car of coal.
When the "brakey" found us I gave him fifty cents for my
fare to Los Lunas, as far as I wanted to go with that
crew, and one dollar for Caldwell's fare to the end of that
division.
On bidding Caldwell goodby, I gave him $1.50 more to
pay his way to Hillsboro. He insisted on having my ad
dress, so that he could send me this borrowed money when
he reached his friends in Hillsboro. I gave him the ad
dress of Chas. Le Roy, El Paso, Texas, and on reaching
that town a week later, I found a postoffice money-order
for the amount of the debt, $2.50, also a nice letter of
thanks. This shows that there is honor even among
tramps.
About February, 1895, Superintendent McCartney
called me into his office and told me to get ready for a
trip to Alaska. He went on to tell of the importance to
the agency of this operation. He advised me to do my
best to make the operation a success, as our Portland of
fice, which had lately been established under the superin-
tendency of Mr. Wooster, had lately made a failure of the
198 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
work. He also went on to tell me how the Treadwell
mine, on Douglas Island, had been robbed during the
winter of $10,000 worth of gold ; that the next day Mr.
Durkin, superintendent of the big Treadwell mine, had
sent a letter to Victoria, B. C, on an outgoing steamer, to
the Western Union Telegraph office with instructions to
wire the Dickenson National Detective agency in Port
land to send three good operatives to Juneau, Alaska, on
the first steamer ; that Mr. Wooster complied with the re
quest, not knowing the nature of the work; that these
three operatives remained in Alaska for a month or two,
but failed to get a clue as to what became of the gold;
then Mr. Durkin called, the operation off and sent the
operatives back to Portland; that soon after the work
was called off as a failure, Mr. Durkin went to San
Diego, Cal., on a pleasure trip, and there, by chance, met
Mr. Wm. L. Dickenson; that the subject of the failure to
recover the stolen gold came up, and Mr. Dickenson laid
the failure to the fact that he (Durkin) had not written
the agency the full details of the robbery instead of wiring
for three operatives, for then, operatives who were fitted
for that kind of work could have been secured from other
offices in case the Portland branch didn't have them ; then
Mr. Dickenson told Superintendent Durkin that although
it was late now to make a success, he believed they could
select men who would get a clue as to what became of the
gold, and possibly get the gold itself; that then Super
intendent Durkin told Mr. Dickenson to go ahead and
put two men on the case, regardless of expense ; that Mr.
Dickenson then wrote Superintendent McCartney recom
mending me for the operation. This, of course, put me
on my dignity, and I determined to do my best.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 199
It was agreed that a few weeks later, Operative W. O.
Sayles would be sent to Alaska to assist me.
In the early part of March I boarded the Topeka, at
Tacoma, Wash., for Juneau, Alaska. The trip on smooth
waters, among whales and "totem-poles" opened my eyes
to a new world of which I had never dreamed.
On arriving in Juneau, a swift little city built on stilts
mostly, I at once wrote to Superintendent Durkin on
Douglas Island, across the bay, of my arrival. At night
in a secluded place I met Mr. Durkin and his assistant,
Mr. Bordus.
It was agreed that I apply for work in the big Tread-
well gold mill, the largest in the world, in a regular way,
and Mr. Bordus would make a place for me. No one but
Mr. Durkin and Mr. Bordus were to know of my identity
or my business. I secured a job as machine oiler. This
work took me to all parts of the mill where I could make
the acquaintance of all the employes. Part of the time I
was on the day-shift, then I changed to the night-shift.
In oiling the machinery, I had to climb around in ticklish
places where a misstep or a false move would land me in
the "kingdomcome."
Once I came within a hair's-breadth of going down into
the midst of revolving wheels. I had barely room to walk
between two large revolving belts. I had stooped to
oil a piece of machinery and in raising up, swerved a
little to the right and was struck on the head by the belt
on that side. My hat, I suppose, is going yet, for I haven't
seen it since.
By the time Operative W. O. Sayles arrived, three
weeks after my arrival, I concluded that we had a clue
200 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and that Charlie Hubbard and Hiram Schell, two mill
hands, who had quit work and bought a small schooner
and sailed westward a month after the robbery, were the
thieves. No one knew what had become of these men, as
they didn't tell any one where they were going with their
little schooner.
Operative Sayles and I discussed matters in Juneau,
between drinks, at the big dance hall where fish-eating
Indian maidens do the dance act to relieve the noble white
man of his dollars.
We decided to buy a large canoe, one that would hold
two cowboys (Sayles had been a cowboy in Montana)
and twenty-five gallons of whisky and go on the trail of
Hubbard and Schell. We had both trailed horses, cattle
and men, but never a schooner on water.
It was agreed that Sayles keep his weather eye open
for a good Indian canoe, while I returned to the mill to
break my arm and recover from the wound. In order to
keep down suspicion, it was necessary for me to have an
excuse for quitting my job, therefore I concluded to break
my arm that night.
It was on the night-shift, and after midnight lunch, I
found a secluded place in the basement, and started the
scheme. The point of my left shoulder was rubbed with
chips and stuff until the skin was almost off, and it
looked red. Then I went to work in the upper stories of
the mill. At the foot of a slippery pair of stairs there
was a floor covered with slush and mud. Here was just
the place for me to land, so as to put on a muddy appear
ance. Near the foot of these stairs stood two men work
ing at the "plates." I waited until their backs were to-
rA COWBOY DETECTIVE 201
wards me, then I went tumbling down the last flight of
the stairs. I landed broadside in the mud, and my lantern
was struck with such force against the floor that it flew
all to pieces.
Of course the men heard the fall and ran to my assist
ance. I was picked up and the company doctor sent for.
I complained the most about the pain in my left shoulder,
which I said had struck against an upright timber in front
of the stairs. My shirts were pulled off and the doctor
made an examination of the seat of the pain. He looked
wise and decided that the shoulder was not broken, but
that the muscles of my arm were badly bruised from the
contact with the post. What fooled him was the fact that I
couldn't raise my arm beyond a level. He saturated cot
ton with liniment and put it on the shoulder. Then the
arm was put in a sling and I was put to bed with much
sympathy from the hired men who assisted me to my
bunk. The next day at noon I was able to take my place
at the table where a hundred or more men ate their meals.
"Reddy" sat next to me and wasted much of his valuable
time cutting my meat as I only had one hand, the other
being in a sling. And poor "Reddy" kept up his sympa
thetic lick for several days until I drew my pay and left
for Juneau.
Just before drawing my wages and quitting1 the mill
job, Sayles had found Hubbard and Schell and their
schooner lying on the water front among the other boats
in Juneau. He had been watching for the little schooner
which we had a description of. She had mysteriously
slipped into port one evening and just as mysteriously
slipped out next morning. But while she lay in port that
202 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
evening, Sayles went aboard and searched the locker.
Later, when the owners came from uptown, Sayles got
into a conversation with them and found their names were
Schell and Hubbard, and that they had just come from the
west coast of Admiralty Island, but what particular place
he couldn't find out.
The news of Schell and Hubbard having been in
Juneau, cured my sore shoulder quickly. On my arrival
in Juneau we bought one of the large Indian canoes
which Sayles had "spotted." It was forty feet long and
painted with all the colors of the rainbow. Her bow and
stern were built high above the water to ward off the
heavy seas.
After our new ship was rigged up with a sail which could
be taken down, mast and all, we loaded up with the nec
essaries of life, including twenty-five gallons of good Ca
nadian rye whisky. The main object in taking the whisky
along was to pass ourselves off as whisky peddlers among
the Indians, and as bait for Schell and Hubbard in case
we found them. Before starting, we bought a fine chart
of the Alaskan coast.
So as to prevent hard feelings, I suggested to Sayles
that we take turns about being captain or boss of the ship ;
that when he was captain I was to be the slave, and vice
versa. He agreed to this.
Sayles was captain the first day out and we had smooth
sailing, but the next day we got caught in a mighty storm
and were tangled up in a tide-riff. We had never heard of
a tide-riff, where two tides meet, and in a storm make the
sea "choppy" and very dangerous for small boats. But
we were not long learning that the Indians dodge these
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 203
tide-riffs, "all same" a Kansas Populist dodges prosper
ity and cyclones.
During this storm on an inlet several miles wide, Sayles
turned pale and began bossing as to what was best to be
done, but I laughed and told him to keep his "fly-trap"
shut, as he was only a slave. He tried to smile but
couldn't, as his heart was not in a smiling mood ; besides,
he was kept busy bailing out the water which washed over
the canoe's side to the windward. I sat in the stern ma
nipulating the Indian paddle used for a rudder, and the
sail. The only thing that kept me from getting scared
was the importance of my position as captain. It was
amusing to me to have "Hold Hengland" at my feet beg
ging to be saved. You see, Sayles was an Englishman, or
at least, a misborn Irishman, he having been born in Ire
land of quite wealthy English parents, therefore missed
the chance of being born at home. Sayles had had very
little experience on salt water, while most of my bare
foot days were spent on the Gulf of Mexico in southern
Texas, chasing coons, crabs, oysters and sea-fowls.
Therefore when it came to handling a small sail-boat I
was right at home.
It is said that "An honest confession is good for the
soul," so I must confess that before being out a month
Old England had America at her feet, begging for mercy.
We were crossing the mouth of Hood's Bay in a severe
storm which was drifting us out to the big water ten
miles across, Hood's Bay itself only being three miles
wide. I begged Sayles to turn back after we were out
from shore only half a mile., but he just laughed and re
minded me of the fact that he was captain that day. He
had learned to be fearless on the water.
204 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
On reaching shore on this, our second day out, we had
to both jump out in the white-capped breakers to keep our
canoe from being pounded to pieces against the rocks;
for in these Alaskan inlets and channels it is a hard mat
ter to find a safe landing place. The heavily timbered
mountains with their craggy edges come right down to
the water's edge, the only sandy beaches being at the
mouth of fresh- water streams, or at a projecting point.
On landing, a big Indian slipped out of the timber and,
jumping into the water, helped us pull the canoe out
high and dry on the shore. Then Mr. "Ingin" helped us
get a fire started in the rain, by using wide bark for a
shelter from the water which was falling. For this kind
help we filled his hide full of Canadian-rye juice, and he
was soon laid out on the dry side of a large spruce tree.
Of course Sayles and I didn't forget to put a few "jolts"
of the rye under our belts, as we were wet and cold. For
the next few weeks we were sailing unknown waters, and
most of the time among Indians who couldn't speak any
English. Often the channels would be so narrow that
we could throw a stone on either side and hit the land,
while other times the water would be ten miles across.
From Indians, who could talk and understand a little
English, we heard of our little schooner and the two
strange white men sailing westward. Thus we knew we
were on the right trail.
From now on, we had some narrow escapes from being
swamped. Once in a storm we got our canoe tangled up
in about a hundred acres of sea-weed, and couldn't get
out for a long time. But at last, we made a landing on a
small island and camped for the night.
205
We finally learned by experience that the storms all
came in the daytime, so then we travelled at night when
the water is generally as smooth as glass. But there being
no wind at night for our sail, we had to take turns about
rowing.
The sun went to roost between 9 and 10 o'clock, and
from that time until 1 1 :3<D p. m. it was dusk, almost as
light as day. Then at 1 130 a. m. day would begin to
break.
One of our narrow escapes happened one night about
ii p. m. The water was like crystal, not a breath of air
was stirring. Sayles was rowing and I was steering with
the paddle. Seeing a black object like a small island
ahead, I steered for that. When within a few hundred
yards of the supposed island, Sayles' bump of caution be
gan to work and he advised me to steer away from it as
it might be a sleeping whale. He said they were very
dangerous when suddenly awakened and that they were
liable to scoot straight towards us, which would mean
possible death to both. He confessed that his knowledge
on the matter had been gained from books, so I told him
that actual experience was the best teacher. It was my
night to be captain, so that he had no right to "chip in."
My phrenology bump of curiosity was at work, therefore
I steered just a little to the left of the half an acre of
black substance. When nearly opposite at a distance of
about 100 yards, we discovered that it was a whale with
out a doubt. There could be no mistake, for there was his
head and about one or two hundred feet further down
the line was his tail. Sayles was pulling hard, and ap
parently sweating blood. He said we must get further
206 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
away before the thing woke up. Just then a new thought
struck me and I said, "Holy smoke, Sayles, here's the
chance of my life to shoot big game !" As I raised the
large caliber Winchester rifle which reclined by my side
Sayles threw up both hands and said, "For God's sake,
don't do it, Charlie !"
I had aimed just back of Mr. Whale's gills or throat.
The bullet hadn't more than struck him when I wished I
had taken my partner's advice. He went around and
around with the rapidity of a cyclone, churning the water
into a foam, the waves reaching our canoe. Then straight
down he went, leaving a hole in the water. This hole
rilling up again, sucked us toward it, and I imagined I
could see Hades at the bottom of the hole. But here,
luck got in her work in my favor again, and the hole was
closed up before we reached it. This was my last shot at
that kind of big game. I hit him all right, for there was
much blood on the water.
Sayles "sulked" the balance of the night, and when he
tried to drown me in the mouth of Hood's Bay in that
storm I believe he was trying to "play even", on me and
the whale.
At a place called "Cootch-in-aboo Head," which was
designated on our chart, we concluded to explore the
mouth of what looked to be a river. The tide was run
ning into it like a mill-race, so we went at a swift gait up
the stream. By night we came to a large Indian village
and the Indian bucks came down to the water-front with
rifles to meet us. We let them smell and taste our "fire
water" to see if it was the right kind to use as a blind, in
passing ourselves off for whisky peddlers. Finding these
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 207
Indians friendly and hospitable, we lay here all next day
and I tried hard to fall in love with a young maiden
whose sire and dame encouraged my suit, but she smelled
"fishy" like all the Alaskan Indians do from living on
fish, and I couldn't get my phrenology love-bump in
working order.
After leaving this village and returning to "Cootch-in-
aboo Head," we laid over a day to fish for halibut. They
are plentiful here. We had brought along two halibut
lines which were over 100 feet long.
There is no end to the different kinds of fish, crabs and
clams which inhabit these waters. We tried them all and
towards the last began to smell "fishy" ourselves.
On this trip we stopped at Funter's Bay and visited a
noted character, old man Willoby, who was about eighty
years old and had four Indian wives and a good undevel
oped gold mine. He had come to that country twenty-five
years previous as a missionary, and after seeing these fat,
pig-eyed squaws ,he fell from grace.
Often we would travel for days and never see even an
Indian. Then we would begin to feel lonesome. The In
dians we met were mostly Chilcats, Sitkas and Chiekes.
Many of them had their faces and hands painted black to
guard against the swarms of mosquitoes and flies.
We had very little fresh meat on the trip, as the many
deer, bear and goats were too poor at that season of the
year to make good eating.
After following the mainland and searching many chan
nels and inlets, we crossed over a wide water to the east
coast of Bishcoff Island, thence south nearly to Sitka, the
capital, thence east across the big water to the west coast
208 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
of Admiralty Island. This island is over a hundred miles
wide, and I think from one hundred and fifty to two hun
dred miles long. After traveling about 600 miles, count
ing the waste miles when we were lost and went back
wards, we found the little schooner up in Chieke Bay,
about twenty miles south of Killisnoo, a place where
steamers plying between Juneau and Sitka stop. She was
anchored in front of the Indian village of Chieke.
We found Schell and Hubbard taking life easy. Here
they had a friend by the name of Hicks, a re-constructed
Missourian, from his looks. He was married to "Hias"
Jennie, the richest Indian woman in the village, her
wealth being in the form of blankets. She had tons of
them. They have no other kind of wealth. "Hias"
means big, and Jennie was indeed a large Indian woman,
but we found her to be a pretty good old sister, after she
became acquainted with us and our Canadian rye.
Hicks .had saved up some money and had recently gone
into the stock business. He had sent his money to a
stock-dealer in Seattle, Wash., on one of the steamers, and
wrote him to send a start of hogs, chickens and cattle.
They were finally unloaded at Killisnoo, and Schell and
Hubbard brought them from there to Chieke in their
schooner.
The stock consisted of a razor-back barrow hog, one
dozen Leghorn hens, no rooster, and a black muley cow
which had a papoose shortly after her arrival. Many of
these Indians had never seen or heard of cattle before,
and they regarded old muley and her black papoose as
evil spirits. Even "Hias" Jennie wouldn't go near them
or drink the milk, so muley and her calf were turned out
209
on the tall grass to rustle for themselves. But while we
were there, they were kept pretty busy fighting flies and
mosquitoes.
The big barrow hog was the most contented animal in
the village, for he had the leavings of all the fish caught
by the several hundred Indians, but no doubt Hicks is
out of the hog business ere this, as there was no chance
for an increase.
The chickens were kept scratching for sea-fleas along
the water edge, both day and night, to keep body and soul
together. These sea-fleas are the size of mustard seed,
and the hens seemed to like them, but it required so many
to make a mess. The hens had twenty hours of daylight
to scratch in. No telling what became of the poor "bid
dies" the following winter when there were but three
hours of good daylight.
We didn't tarry long in Chieke Village, but went on up
to the head of Chieke Bay, three miles distant, to look
for the "Lost Rocker" gold mine, which tradition says is
near a water-fall which falls over a cliff about 2,000 feet
high. In Killisnoo we had heard of such a water-fall be
ing at the head of Chieke Bay, so this was our excuse for
going there. We found the water-fall to be grand and
near it we pitched our tent. Then we began prospecting
for the gold that never was there.
Here is where the bait we brought along proved a win
ner, for Charlie Hubbard liked the bait and put in most
of his time in our camp. He thought our Canadian rye
was fine. At first he had to pay for it, same as other In
dians, but when he became one of our family, it was free
to him.
14
210 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
In selling whisky to the Chieke Indians, we stirred up
a hornet's nest. One night a crowd of drunken bucks
made a raid on our camp and tried to force us to sell them
more whisky. We had to stand them off with firearms,
and Sayles and I had to sit up all night, as they were out
in the brush around our camp singing weird songs and
howling like coyotes. The next day the chief of the tribe
gave us orders to sell no more liquor to his people, as
some of them had nearly beaten their wives to death
during the night. We promised, of course, for we were
ready to quit, as our reputation as whisky peddlers was
established. Besides, we needed what whisky there was
left as bait for Hubbard to keep him in our camp.
Days ran into weeks, and while Sayles and I were out
hunting for the "Lost Rocker" mine, we would come
back to camp and find Hubbard and a warm supper. Hub-
bard knew where the whisky was cached out in the
timber, therefore he helped himself during our absence.
He had a small canoe of his own, and he could go and
come to and from Chieke at his pleasure.
Sayles and I were always testing rock for gold. We
were both posted on assaying, and we talked a good
deal on that subject.
Finally, Hubbard asked us the best treatment for chlori-
nation gold. We told him, and now we were satisfied
that we were on the right trail, for the $10,000 worth of
gold stolen from the Treadwell mill was chlorination
gold taken from the bottom of a tank.
One evening Hubbard came from a visit to Schell in
Chieke, where no doubt they had both talked matters over,
and confessed that they had stolen $10,000 worth of gold
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 211
from the Treadwell, and he offered us $400 to melt it into
pure gold for them. Of course we had to swear secrecy.
We explained that it would be necessary to expend some
cash for material to build a furnace to treat the gold.
That same night after the sun went down about 10
o'clock, Hubbard took me and a quart bottle of rye-juice
to where they had the gold cached. It was across Chieke
Bay from the Indian village, three miles, and about four
miles from our camp. On arriving at the place, Hubbard
dug up a frying pan, the inside of which was coated with
at least $200 worth of gold. This was as far as he and
Schell had got with their treatment. They succeeded in
melting the stuff, but on trying to pour it into a mold to
make a brick, it would cool and stick to the frying-pan.
He also showed me their bellows, made of a cracker-box
and a rain-coat. They had used bark for the fire. He
designated the place where the rest of the gold was
cached, but wouldn't tell me the exact spot, nor did I
press him to know.
We got back to camp about 2 a. m. and woke Sayles up
to get a drink out of his bottle, which was kept under his
head, as ours was empty.
Hubbard and I were soon in the "Land of Nod," and
my dreams had a gold lining, as I felt sure we were on
the road to final success.
For several days following, we three discussed the sub
ject of melting the stolen gold.
I had previously told Hubbard of scrapes which I had
been into down in Texas and New Mexico, and how of
ficers of the law had chased me out of that country.
Therefore, he seemed to place confidence in me.
212 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
It was agreed that I go alone to Juneau and secure ma
terial to build a furnace, and the chemicals and crucibles
for melting the gold.
Leaving Sayles in camp with Hubbard, I started in a
canoe with an Indian, whom I had hired to take me to
Killisnoo, a distance of twenty miles. Arriving in Killis-
noo, I put up with the superintendent of the big fishery
there. He kept a boarding house for the hired white men.
The place was nothing but an Indian village. The passen
ger steamers, the Topeka and Queen, made weekly trips
between Sitka and Juneau, and next day I caught the
Queen for Juneau.
At Superintendent Durkin's residence on Douglas Is
land, I met Mr. Bordus and Durkin and, told them of our
plans.
After securing some clay to make a furnace, and mate
rial to melt the gold, I returned on the Topeka to Killis
noo. Before leaving, I arranged for Deputy United States
Marshal Collins to be on board a United States man-of-
war which was spending the summer at Killisnoo, on a
certain day two weeks later, so that he could help us make
the arrests, for fear the Indians might assist the prison
ers.
Next day after my arrival in Killisnoo I hired an In
dian to take me and my freight to Chieke. He had his
family with him in the canoe, and in order to buy some
food for his family he requested that I pay in advance.
This I did, but whisky was bought with the money. By
the time we were ready to start there were several drunk
en Indians, and they had a regular "Kilkenny" fight in
the sand on the beach, the women folks joining in. After
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 213
the "scrap" there was hair enough on the ground to make
a nice hair-bridle, but not a drop of blood in sight.
On starting we found the canoe loaded to the guards.
Besides the freight, there were three Indian women, two
bucks and one sixteen-year-old girl, besides myself. The
girl and I sat in the stern, she steering the canoe. The
wind was in the right direction, so that the sail could be
used. The Indians kept passing the jug of whisky
around, against my protest.
When out on the big strait, a storm blew up from the
shore and the water became rough. One unruly Indian
man wanted to steer the canoe and the others were trying
to hold him. In doing so, they came very near turning the
canoe over. I became desperate and knocked the unruly
fellow down on his back in the bottom of the canoe. I
then pulled "old Colt's 45" and threatened to kill the first
Indian who got up on his feet. Then the women, includ
ing the girl, began crying. The girl was afraid to sit
with me, so she joined her mother and they sat down on
the unruly buck so he couldn't get up. Soon he fell
asleep. We landed at our camp about sundown, and on
unloading the grub and other stuff brought along, I dis
missed the Indians and they started to Chieke.
I then walked up to camp 100 yards from the shore and
found Sayles cooking supper and Hubbard sitting by the
fire. I could see that something was wrong, but pre
tended not to notice it.
The camp-fire was outside and Sayles stepped into the
tent to get something and while in there he wrote on a
scrap of paper, "It's all off. They are suspicious of us
and say they won't dig up the gold." This was slipped
214 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
into my hand the first opportunity. Later I read it in the
tent, but I continued to look cheerful against my will.
There are times when a detective earns his salary, deep
down where the public can't see.
By the time supper was over it was dusk. I then asked
if the kiln of charcoal which I had helped start before
leaving for Juneau had been burnt, as though I knew
nothing about the deal being off. Hubbard spoke up and
said: "No, Lee (I was then going by the name of Lee
R. David), the fire has gone out and we haven't started it
up again." As though surprised I asked the reason. Hub-
bard replied : "Let's walk up there, Lee, I want to talk
to you."
We then started up the heavily timbered gulch for the
charcoal kiln, a distance of several hundred yards. Noth
ing was said on the question at issue until we reached
there. Then Hubbard straightened up to his full height,
six feet one inch, and facing me said : "Lee, that partner
of yours is a d d policeman and Schell and I have con
cluded not to dig up that gold now."
I asked in surprise, what he meant by a policeman. He
replied : "I mean he is a fly-cop — a detective." I said :
"D d if that ain't news to me. If I thought he was I
wouldn't sleep until I had him anchored out in a deep
place in the bay where no one would ever find him, for
he knows things about me that would put me in the pen
the rest of my natural life."
Then Hubbard asked: "How long have you known
Sayles?" I replied that I had never met him until a
few months previous, in Juneau, when an old Arizona
friend of mine introduced us; that this friend lived
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 215
in Juneau and knew all about my past history; that he
knew enough to send me to the pen, and that I knew suf
ficient to hang him, and that he assured me Sayles could
be trusted even with my life, as he had seen him tested
when they were partners in the smuggling business be
tween Canada and Montana. I assured Hubbard that if
he was a detective my friend didn't know it, but that he
may have turned to be a detective since my friend and he
separated a few years previous, and if he had, I wanted to
know it. So I asked Hubbard on what grounds his sus
picions were based. He answered: "D n him, he
just looks like a policeman, and he has traveled over the
world too much. He has told me all about his travels."
I laughed outright and told Hubbard that he was foolish
for getting suspicious on those grounds, and that I felt
relieved, as I supposed that he had discovered good
grounds for his suspicions.
I then told Hubbard how my friend had met Sayles in
Canada on the line of Montana, at a time when Sayles'
wealthy relatives in the old country had quit furnishing,
him any more money, as he was wild and reckless ; that
then Sayles joined my friend in the smuggling business
and that they turned a few other tricks besides smuggling.
I told Hubbard that unless he felt perfectly safe that I
would advise him to let the gold stay where it was ; that,
of course, it would hurt me a little, as I had spent some
money on the trip, on the strength of the $400 they were
to give us for melting the stuff.
After studying a moment with his head down, Hubbard
grabbed my hand and shook it, saying: "Lee, I never
doubted you for a minute. We will call the deal on again
216 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and go ahead; but I am only going- to bring about one-
fourth of the stuff at a time. When we melt the first
batch you can take $100 worth out for your part. Then
I will cache my part and bring in more ; then there won't
be any danger of us losing it all if he is a policeman."
This I told him would suit Sayles and me.
We then returned to camp and had a round of
drinks, and I told Sayles to bring some fire on the
shovel and we would start up the charcoal kiln so it
would be ready by the time the furnace was finished.
Sayles wore a satisfied smile the balance of the evening.
We all three went back and started up the kiln in good
shape.
How quickly dark, threatening clouds can be banished
with the proper use of "soft soap" or "taffy"; in other
words, good hard innocent lying.
Next day after Hubbard had returned from an in
terview with Schell, we selected a place for the furnace
and started to build it. The site chosen was in a grove
of timber on a knoll, about 200 yards from our camp,
a place where no one would ever think of visiting. Say
les bossed the job of building the furnace, as he took
a great interest in such matters. Hubbard and I played
the part of hod-carriers, though we held no card in any
Union ; consequently we were "scabbing."
When the furnace was completed, we figured it would
require several days to dry, so as to be fit for use, and
during this time I concluded to visit Killisnoo and buy
a few luxuries as well as a bottle of Carter's Little Liver
Pills, as I pretended to need some medicine.
I went to Killisnoo in a canoe, and on arrival there
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 217
consulted with Deputy United States Marshal Collins
on board the man-of-war. I set a day when we would
aim to have the first batch of gold melted. On that
day it was agreed that Collins be at the extreme head
of Hoods Bay and camp on the south side in the
open, so that we could find him. I described the place
that he should camp at. Before finding Hubbard and
Schell, Sayles and I had been to the head of Hoods
Bay. We knew by the maps and the lay of the country
that the heads of Hoods Bay and Chieke Bay were only
about five miles apart, and my aim was to travel this
five miles afoot after Collins, when matters were ripe
for arrest.
I then returned to camp and found the furnace and
charcoal ready for business.
One night after dark, Hubbard brought in what he
thought was about a fourth of the gold. It looked just
like black mud and was very heavy. Next day we made
experiments and melted some of the stuff into fine gold
nuggets. This was the day Collins was to go to the head
of Hoods Bay and remain there until one of us came.
The day following, the furnace was kept going, and
some nice nuggets were turned out. Hubbard worked
hard, as he was anxious to get this batch finished so
that he could get the nuggets cached in a safe place.
But Sayles and I had agreed that we wouldn't quite finish
the batch, so we worked with that end in view, although
we had not planned a mode of action. That was left
to my two by four brain, to act whenever I got a "hunch"
that the time was ripe. The main point was not to let
Hubbard recache this gold.
218 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Towards sundown I had a fine supper cooking, — clam
chowder and pies. I went out to see how the boys were
getting along. Hubbard was sweating like a "Nigger"
at election, in his haste to finish the batch before supper
time While I was out there we weighed the nuggets
and made an estimate of the value of the gold, including
that just put into the crucibles to melt. This would make
$1,900 worth. Here I went back to see that my clam
chowder wasn't burning. I knew how long it would take
to melt the stuff now in the furnace, so I regulated the
cooking accordingly.
Hubbard and I slept together on one side of the tent,
while Sayles slept on the other. Hubbard kept his rifle
under the head of our bed, buried out of sight in the
grass which we slept on. I secured this rifle and was
looking for a safe place to hide it. Near the camp there
was a deep hole of water not less than ten feet deep.
All of a sudden I got a "hunch" that this would be
a good place to hide it, so out the rifle went in the
pool, which was quite wide, and no doubt it is there
yet, as we never looked for it. Then I cached my Win
chester rifle, so I could get it without Hubbard seeing
me.
Now supper was ready, and I began to call the boys,
Ten minutes passed and they didn't come. I called with
an oath attached, to let them know I was getting angry.
After another minute's wait I ran out to where they
were at work. They had just emptied the crucibles and
Hubbard was insisting that they fill them up with the
last "mud" on hand, as he would rather finish than go
to supper. As he had agreed to stay and keep the fur-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 219
race hot, Sayles had to give in, as he had no excuse.
So I found them preparing to put the last "mud" in
the crucibles. I began swearing and said my nice sup
per was getting cold. Hubbard began to make his talk
about finishing, but I told him that there would be an
other day, to-morrow, to work in, and so saying, I
grabbed the crucibles and "mud" and cached it behind
a log near by. I then picked up the can containing the
nuggets and started out in the brush to cache them.
Hubbard followed me and helped dig a hole in the
moss by the side of a log, where the can was deposited.
This was quite a distance from the furnace, so that
Sayles couldn't see us.
We then went to supper. Hubbard didn't feel good
until after we had taken a couple of appetizers before
sitting down to the nice meal.
My supper didn't agree with me, for I began to have
cramps in my stomach an hour afterwards; this, of
course, being a blind. I went to bed the same time Hub
bard and Sayles did, but I couldn't sleep. In the course
of an hour or more, when I thought Hubbard was
asleep, I got up and put on my boots and clothes, but
Hubbard was awake and asked where I was going. I
told him I was going to make a hot toddy and see if
it wouldn't help my stomach-ache. After putting on
water to heat, I made the toddy and went back to bed.
Another hour passed and I got up again to make an
other toddy. This time Hubbard was asleep. Still, the
toddy was made and I sat by the fire awhile. Finally,
with my Winchester on my shoulder I slipped through
the brush to where the gold was cached. Securing the
220 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
nuggets and the balance of the "mud," I struck out
for the northeast through the timber. Half a mile from
camp I recached the gold, then continued up an open
glade covered with skunk-cabbage, on which the hun
dreds of bears feed. Sayles and I had been to the head
of this open glade where tfye heavy timber and under
brush started in again. From the head of this glade
over to Hoods Bay, was an unexplored territory to me.
By this time it was quite dark. I could see the bears
running into the timber at the head of the glade, just
where I had to go. This made me feel a little ticklish,
as I had heard it said that Alaska bears were danger
ous when they had young ones, or if surprised by a
person coming on to them suddenly.
Since pitching our tent here on Chieke Bay, one night
a large bear stuck his head under our tent and grunted
as though something was hurting him. Sayles and I
woke up at the same time. While I was figuring
whether to shoot Mr. Bear or invite him to walk in,
Sayles gave a yell that caused the poor bear to nearly
break his neck getting away We could hear the brush
cracking for half a mile.
At this time of year these bears were unfit for use.
They were poor in flesh and their fur was no good.
Their habit was to come to the coast from the high
mountain range in the center of this large island, and
live on skunk-cabbage and berries until the salmon be
gan to "run" up the fresh water streams. Then Mr.
Bear would get fat on fish and return to his winter
quarters in the high mountains.
From the head of the glade I found it hard navigating,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 221
owing to the fallen timber and "devil-clubs," — a tough
briar bush with thorns like an eagle claw, which is poison
to the flesh. They take hold of one's clothes and hang
on like grim death to a dead "Nigger." I had to fol
low the bear trails. Often I had to crawl on my hands
and knees for a hundred feet or more, under fallen tim
ber. During all this time I would whistle or sing to
scare the bears out of my path. Judging from the sound
of the brush cracking ahead and up the sides of the
mountains, there were a great many of them.
On top of the mountain range I came to a lake. There
were no bear trails around it, and to go through the
brush was too slow and tiresome, so I waded around the
edge of the timber in the lake, up to my waist in water.
Reaching the opposite side of the lake I found myself
going down a creek, and by keeping in the middle of
it half-knee deep in water, I could make pretty good
time. In going down this creek I couldn't resist the
temptation of firing my pistol twice, once to kill a large
dog salmon, and the other, at a large bald eagle. I cut
the eagle's claws off as relics.
It was after daylight when I woke up Deputy United
States Marshal Collins in his tent. While he was dress
ing I made some coffee. Before starting, he gave orders
to the two Indians to take his camp outfit back to Kill-
isnoo.
We returned the way I had come.
On reaching the top of a high hill overlooking our
camp, we saw Sayles and Hubbard getting breakfast.
We slipped down through the brush and reached the
tent on the opposite side from the camp fire. Stepping
222 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
around the tent we advanced towards Hubbard. Col
lins pointed his pistol at him and demanded that he
throw up his hands, as he was a prisoner. I had cau
tioned Collins not to shoot Hubbard under any condition,
unless he should break to run or pull a gun. I explained
that he had no gun as I had thrown it in the water-
hole.
I was standing still, smiling, with the butt of my rifle
resting on the ground. Hubbard paid no attention to
Collins' demand, but straightening himself up to his full
height, with both thumbs under his suspenders, he walked
up to me and looking me square in the face said : "Davis,
how in h — 1 can you ever face the public again, after
the way you have treated me?" I laughed and told him
that my business was mostly with individuals, not the
public, hence my conscience wouldn't bother me on that
score.
Poor W. Roxward Sayles felt relieved. Hubbard had
gone out when they found me missing, and discovered
the gold gone. Then he raised h — 1 with Sayles who
assured him that I would be back soon; that I might
have heard Indians prowling around while sick and sit
ting by the fire, and had recached the gold to keep them
from finding it. Hubbard had then searched for my
tracks on the beach, but failed to find any. Both canoes
were on the beach, so he was satisfied I would return.
The matter wound up by Hubbard and Schell being
taken back to Juneau in the Lucy, a steam launch. The
Deputy Marshal, Sayles, and myself accompanied them.
Arriving in Juneau, Mr. Schell was put in jail, while
Hubbard remained in my company. He had given me
223
his word that he wouldn't attempt to escape. I believed
him, my object being to "job" him by having him make
a written confession of the theft, so that Sayles and I
wouldn't have to stay there as witnesses until court sat
late in the fall.
For a week Hubbard went everywhere that I did,
free from handcuffs. We slept together over in my cabin
on Douglas Island, Sayles remaining in Juneau.
After Hubbard had confessed the robbery and agreed
to testify to the theft in court, I had to turn the poor
fellow over to the jailor to be locked up. This hurt me
worse than it did him, but I made arrangements for him
to receive better treatment than the other prisoners were
getting.
This ended our work. The company got back their
$10,000 worth of black "mud," as it had all been found
and dug up where Schell and Hubbard had cached it.
The gold-plated frying pan was also taken along, as it
was worth a few hundred dollars, there being that much
gold sticking to it.
When the United States Court convened late in the
fall, Hubbard and Schell were sent to the penitentiary.
Hubbard received a sentence of only one year in the
Sitka Pen. Schell received a longer sentence, so I heard.
During his stay in the Sitka Pen, Hubbard used to
correspond with Sayles and me regularly. The last let
ter received was after his sentence had expired, and
while he was preparing to start for the Dawson City
gold diggings to make his fortune. We only hope that
he has become rich, for the world is full of worse men
than Charlie Hubbard. Whiskey was the cause of his
downfall.
224 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
After serving his term out, Schell became a desperado.
Last account I had of him through the newspapers, was
where he and a gang had killed a Deputy United States
Marshal, and I believe one or two other men, and were
in a stronghold not far from Juneau, standing off an
army of men. The papers stated that the outlaws
couldn't escape, as they were surrounded, but I never
learned how the fight came out. The chances are, Schell
was caught and is now serving a life sentence, if not
dead.
While in Juneau one day, I ran on to my old friend
and boss, W. C. Moore, with whom I had worked for
three long years on the L X ranch in Texas, when a
cowboy. While chasing the "Almighty Dollar" in the
American Valley in western New Mexico in the early
'8o's, he murdered two men and became an outlaw,
with a big reward on his head. I was not surprised to
see him in Juneau, as a cowboy friend had written me
that he was in Alaska, and gave me the name under
which he was going. I had also read a letter once, writ
ten by himself, under this same assumed name, to Mr.
W. L. Dickenson. In this letter he told of being camped
with the noted Tascott, the murderer of Millionaire
Snell, of Chicago, and of how he would deliver him
over to the authorities for part of the fifty thousand
dollar reward which had been offered in all the papers.
Here was a case of one outlaw trying to turn up an
other bad man for money.
Even had I not known the name under which Moore
was sheltered, I would have known his poor handwrit
ing and bad spelling.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 225
In connection with the Moore letter, I learned a new
lesson in high finance, to the effect that the fifty thou
sand big silver "plunks" offered for Tascott's arrest,
was a fake, the truth being that he was not wanted,
owing to the fear of a scandal in high life.
I had poor Bill Moore Badly frightened, although I
had no intention of having him arrested. He wouldn't
recognize me or acknowledge that he was Moore, and
as soon as I left him he pulled out for "tall timber."
Friends told me that he was known as a trapper, and
only came into Juneau about once a year. Therefore,
he must be living a "hell on earth," which should be a
warning to others not to commit murder for the sake of
the "Almighty Dollar."
No doubt, I had previously been pointed out to Moore
as Lee Roy Davis, the Dickenson detective who helped
capture Hubbard and Schell. The local papers had been
full of news about the great detectives, Sayles and Davis,
who recovered the stolen gold.
After receiving the blessings of Mr. Durkin and Mr.
Bordus, for getting back their black "mud," Sayles and
I boarded the steamer Queen for Sitka, so as to take in
the Capital of Alaska before returning to civilization.
On the return trip from Sitka, we visited the great
Muirr Glacier, one of the wonders of the frozen north.
At the Muirr Glacier I did a little stunt which should
forever brand me as a fool.
The tourists on the Queen had climbed the hill and
mounted the glacier. Most of the people had rented
sticks with spikes in the end to keep from slipping on
the ice, but I didn't, as I regarded them a foolish fad
to make one look like a "globe-trotter."
226 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
We finally came to a natural ice bridge across a chasm
hundreds of feet deep and about thirty feet wide. The
bridge was only two or three feet wide with a slippery
surface.
A nice looking young woman bantered some of the
men to show their courage by crossing this bridge. No
one responded. Then she gathered up her skirts with
the independent air of a Boston school mar'm, and went
across. On the opposite side she laughed, and dared
one of us men to come across. Instead of complying
with the dare, most of them got further back as though
the mere thought of crossing the chasm gave them the
shivers. I told Sayles that if some one else didn't go I
would, as women are not built for holding as much
courage as men, and for that reason, I couldn't stand to
see the whole male population of the world disgraced
by one little woman.
Finally I plucked up courage and started, but before
getting half way over I wished to be back on the start
ing side. If my hair didn't stand up on end, it surely
felt like it. I dare not shut my eyes, and with them
open I could see too far below, where there seemed to
be no bottom.
On reaching the lady's side, she gave me the "glad
hand," which helped some, but it didn't relieve the strain
on my mind as to how I should get back, for I was on
an icy island with chasms all around. I followed the
lady back, but it required every ounce of courage in me
to make the start. Hereafter when a foolish girl wants
to test the courage of men, she won't get me for a tool,
no matter if she is a "good-looker" with a form like a
"two-time winner."
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 227
I enjoyed the trip from Alaska immensely, for it gave
me my first chance to study nobility at close range. We
had on board a Duke from Italy and a Prince from
Germany. The Prince's name was Bismarck, he being #,
nephew of the "Heap Big Chief" Bismarck, ruler of the
German Empire.
The Italian Duke was a nice sociable gentleman with
sense enough not to be a Duke, if it wasn't for the
graft there was in it.
But with the other rooster, his Royal Princeship, he
didn't have a thimbleful of brains. He wouldn't speak
to anyone on the boat but the Captain, and he wouldn't
stoop so low as to eat with the common herd. He got
up on his highhorse once because I called him partner.
He asked the Captain what that "bloody American"
meant by calling him partner. He had taken the wrong
route to see an Indian village, when I called and said:
"Say, partner, you are on the wrong road." His Royal
'Iness was on a trip around the world.
One jolly soul on the Queen was a Mrs. Lane, the
wife of Millionaire Lane of Angels Camp, California.
And Dr. Bean and his lively wife of Pocatello, Idaho,
were passengers. Also Mr. John Brown, of Blackfoot,
Idaho, a member of the Idaho Legislature. In fact,
the steamer was full of live, jolly passengers, which made
the week's trip a pleasant one.
In Portland, Oregon, Sayles and I laid over a day
to visit with Supt. Wooster, Capt. Jas. Bivens, Mr. D. G.
Doogan, and Philip Berne, of the Dickenson Agency.
We then boarded a train for Denver, and en route home
I found a Dutchman who had a wonderful memory for
faces and the human voice.
228 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Sayles and I had got off the train to get a cup of coffee
in a lunch room. The place was crowded. When I
asked for the coffee, a man with his back to me said:
"Hello, I know that voice." Then turning around to
face me he said: "Hello partner, don't you know me?"
I replied "No." He then said: "I'm Dutchy, the fel
low who put up the turkeys for you fellers to shoot at,
in Tuscarora, Nevada, several years ago. You are the
feller who had the pretty Colts pistol."
I then remembered "Dutchy." No doubt he would
make a good sleuth, providing he could harden his con
science and learn to look wise and keep his mouth shut
at the proper time.
On arriving in Denver, Supt. McCartney gave Sayles
and me the "glad hand" for our good work in Alaska,
and the operation was closed after an absence of six
months.
CHAPTER X
CHASING LEON CARRIER THROUGH THE REPUBLIC OF
MEXICO — RUNNING DOWN BAD MEN IN ARIZONA —
BIG ORE ROBBERY ON BULL HILL — GOLDEN FLEECE
ORE STEALING CASE — HOBO OPERATION — BIG MINING
SUIT IN ARIZONA — RUNNING DOWN BANKER'S SON
IN BRITISH COLUMBIA.
My next big case was chasing Leon Carrier, a noble
son of a noble member of the Canadian Parliament, from
one end of Old Mexico to the other.
Carrier had stolen thirty carloads of merchandise from
the Westerly Pacific Railroad Company, and the Dick-
enson Agency was employed to run his noble "nibs"
down.
In Mexico, Carrier changed his name often.
This operation afforded me a chance to visit my friend,
Daniel Turner, Supt. of the Wells Fargo Express Co.
in the City of Mexico, and to see the sights of that ancient
Capital once more.
I never heard what they did with Mr. Carrier on
getting him back to Canada. But the chances are, his
noble father pjaid the bills and put the young man on
the stool of repentance.
Soon after this, Mr. McCartney sent me to Arizona
to run down the noted, John Zillman.
The big insurance companies of New York had been
trying to locate John Zillman since 1879, when he was
229
230 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
supposed to have been killed and buried, in Barbour
County, Kansas. The insurance people who had in
sured his life a short time previous to 1879 for $75,000
in favor of his wife, had what they thought was good
proof that a drunken .cigar maker had been murdered
and buried for Zillman, so as to beat the companies out
of the insurance money.
Mrs. Zillman, backed by her friend, Levi Baldwin,
a rich cattleman, had sued the insurance companies in
several courts, and always won their suit. But the com
panies would just as often appeal to a higher court, in
hopes of finding Zillman. The case was due to come up
in court again soon, and the insurance people felt sure
that if they could run down two men, Fletcher Fair-
child and Bill Herendon, one of them would prove to
be the much wanted Zillman.
Supt. McCartney informed me that all I had to work
on, was the fact that Bill Herendon was a desperado
who smuggled between Arizona and Old Mexico, and
was always on the jump to avoid arrest. In the case
of Fletcher Fairchild, no one knew where he was living.
The last account had of him was a year previous, when
he left the Levi Baldwin cattle ranch in the Datil moun
tains of western New Mexico, riding a bob-tail horse,
and headed west towards Flagstaff, Arizona.
After being given a description of Zillman, with a
photo taken when he was a young man, I started.
In Holbrook, A. T., a cattle town on the Atlantic and
Pacific Ry., I bought a horse and saddle, and later an
other horse. Then followed hard rides over deserts
and mountains, My work led me through the wildest
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 231
parts of Arizona. Part of the time I was in the Super
stitious Mountains where "Apache Kid" and his cut
throat band of Indians were in hiding, my only compan
ions being the two saddle ponies and "Phoenix," a Scotch
terrier dog stolen for me in the territorial capital. The
"chambermaid" in the livery stable stole this high-toned
dog with a brass collar, because he needed a silver dol
lar to quench his thirst.
Both of my men were finally run down. Bill Heren-
don and his two outlaw chums who were well mounted
gave me the liveliest chase. They were arrested in the
Salvation Army mountains on the border of Old Mexico.
As neither man proved to be the muchly wanted Hill-
man, "Phoenix" and I boarded a train for Denver. I had
been on the operation three months, and used the name
of Lee R. Davis.
My next Big case was for the Spion Gold Mining Co.,
of Cripple Creek, Colorado. I built a cabin on top of
Bull Hill among the Western Federation dynamiters and
sweated much blood for fear of being blown up at night.
A Coeur D'Alene member of the Miners Union, Oscar
W., recognized me as the C. Leon Allison of Gem,
Idaho. He had figured in the killing of Johnny Knee-
bone and had fallen heir to that "scab" blacksmith's
pistol, after his murder at Gem, Idaho, in 1894. Oscar
W. promised not to disclose my identity to the dyna
miters, and he kept his word.
My several months hard work in the Cripple Creek
district disclosed a big steal wherein our clients J. A.
Hill, Horace Union, Dr. J. T. Remy and James Cownors,
had lost about half a million dollars through the theft
332 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
of rich gold ore. The superintendent of their mine,
the Pikes Peak, and three of the directors In the Union
Gold Co. were in the steal. I had to appear on the wit
ness stand in Colorado Springs.
My next operation was a big ore-stealing case for
Geo. Lakes, D. K. See and Attorney Dobbs of Denver.
They were being robbed blind in their Golden Fleece
mine at Lake City, Colorado, though their superintend
ent, Mr. Aker, was an honest man.
My work disclosed the slickest system of daylight
robbery that was ever carried on in a civilized country.
I became one of the thieves after taking lessons in an
assay office run by one of the gang.
W. O. Sayles helped me wind up the operation, which
lasted a couple of months. In the eruption, 150 miners
on the Golden Fleece lost their jobs. Twenty to thirty
thousand dollars worth of rich ore had been stolen each
month; hence the clients were happy over the stopping
of this leak in their fat incomes.
Here another tramp hobo job fell to my lot. Mc
Cartney gave me $150 of expense money, and sent me
south to roundup Tim Corn, the afterwards noted stock
detective hung in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He was needed
to testify in court, hence I was instructed to finish his
bum operation, which he was doing for private parties.
At Coolidge, New Mexico, I found Corn early one
morning with a tough gang of hobos. They were hold
ing a council of war as to how they were all going to
eat on the quarter of a dollar which one of them had.
Corn had lost his $100 expense money a few days
previous, gambling in Albuquerque, hence he was really
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 233
"on the hog." He was ashamed to wire home for more
expense money so soon after leaving Denver. I finally
got a chance to slip Tim Corn a few dollars to take him
to Albuquerque, from whence he could wire for more
money.
When ready to start, Corn gave a brakeman one dol
lar to take him to Albuquerque. It was a cattle train
loaded with steers, and the "brakey" opened the trap
door on top of the car, through which the hay is put
into the racks which hang on the inside of the car. Horn
being a big six-footer it was a tight squeeze for the
"brakey" to shove him through the small hole. When
inside, the trap door was fastened by the "brakey" and
poor Horn couldn't get out if he wanted to. He was
a Horn among horns, as he had to lie in the hay rack
above the clashing steer horns.
Just then a red headed hobo came and sat down by
me on the depot platform and said : "Say, Cully, did you
see de 'brakey' shove dat tall guy in wid de steers?" I
replied "yes," as he had seen me watching the proceed
ing. He then continued: "Dat guy is a fly cop for de
Dickensons. De gang was goen to do him up tonight
and get his big gun and watch. He said he didn't have
no rocks (money), but I bet he did. If he didn't, where
did he get dat big plunk (silver dollar), dat he give to
de 'brakey?'"
I asked the hobo how he knew that he was a fly cop.
He replied that the fellow had made a confident of an
old Indian scout from Arizona, who now lived on a
ranch at a spring near Coolidge; that they were drink
ing together in the saloon the night previous, and that
234 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
the scout haa told the secret to the barkeeper who gave
it out to his friends on the quiet. Then one of these
friends put "de gang next." I was worried for fear
the train crew might know the secret and kill Corn,
but my hands were tied, as the train had pulled out, so
that I could do nothing to warn him. Had the train
crew killed him, he would have avoided the trouble of
being hung in disgrace. Besides, many lives which he
snuffed out for pay, while acting as stock detective for
the cattlemen of Wyoming, would have been saved.
He told me of killing two of these supposed cattle
thieves, one of them being a cowboy named Matt Rash.
I never think of Tim Corn but that his bulky form
and big ears loom up in my mind's eye as he was be
ing shoved into the roof of that cattle car.
I tramped it all the way to Los Angeles, California,
and back through Arizona and New Mexico. The work
was being done for the S. T. & G. Ry. Co. On this
tramp job I saw enough of life in box cars and under
water tanks to write a large sized book.
In Denver, a couple of months later, I put on my good
clothes and was transformed from a hobo to a city
gentleman.
I was finally sent to Minas Prietas, a large mining
camp in the State of Sonora, Old Mexico. Howell
Lines, who was a third owner and manager of five gold
mills in Minas Prietas, had sent to the Denver Agency
for a good mining detective who understood the Mexi
can language and customs, to run down $20,000 worth
of amalgam which had disappeared mysteriously from
one of his gold mills.
TiM CORN.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 235
After spending over a month in Minas Prietas, eating
fresh oysters on the half shell every meal at the Hotel
Colorado, and enduring the heart-rending cruelties to
the poor horses and mules which hauled the freight and
ore, the $20,000 worth of amalgam was found where it
had run off with the quicksilver into the tailings dump.
Carelessness on the part of employes .had caused the loss.
It was recovered, and my fun, drinking mescal and danc
ing with pretty Mexican girls, was cut off.
While on this operation, I had made one trip out into
the wild mountains with a saloon man and a blacksmith,
who were suspected of being into the supposed steal.
We went to examine a mining prospect which the black
smith owned. Of course, we took along a good supply
of mescal, a Mexican liquor which makes drunk come
quick, for snake bites.
I also made one trip to Guaymas, a seaport city on
the Gulf of California, to work on an old man who was
suspected, and while there, I came within a hair's
breadth of crossing the dark river of death, from whence
there is no awakening. Still, our old mythical devil
would, if he could, have awakened me to scorch my
whiskers for hopping around on the face of the earth
and sipping more than my share of the honey of life
between hops.
On the train, en route to Guaymas, I met my Bull Hill
friend, Mr. M., one of the Union Gold Mining Co. di
rectors, who had been mixed up in that big ore-stealing
case. He gave me his hand and assured me that he held
no ill-will against me, as I had done only my duty and
had told the truth on the witness stand in Colorado
236 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Springs. He was accompanied by a friend whom I sus
pected of being mixed up in this same steal, though I
had never met him before. Of course, he knew all about
me.
On arriving in Guaymas, we three went to the same
hotel, the ALameda, I think it was called.
That night we took in the sights, and hired an Indian
to take us out into deep water in the Gulf, so we could
catch barracuda, a large, slender, deep-water fish. We
were to start at daylight next morning in a small sailboat.
I felt that it might be a "job" on the part of M. and his
companion to drown me in revenge for the part I had
played against M. in the Cripple Creek district.
After midnight we three climbed the broad stairs to
our rooms, which fronted on an open court. I had a
separate room adjoining my two companions, and Mr.
M. agreed to wake me at daylight.
In going to bed my corduroy pants were put under
the pillow, and then noticing that my old Colts 45 was
lying on the center table, I placed it on top of the pants.
Next morning while the room was still dark, a loud
rap came on my door. I jumped up, half asleep, and
grabbing the legs of my pants which hung over the side
of the bed, with the intention of putting them on be
fore going to the door, I jerked them out from under
the pillow. In doing so, the pistol landed on the floor
and struck on the hammer, which rested on a loaded
cartridge.
The report of the shot in the close room was deafen
ing, and the powder smoke and dust from the falling
plaster almost choked me. I stood still, with the pants
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 237
in my hand, wondering if my friend M. had thrown a
bomb into the room. Just then I saw the silver mounted
pistol on the floor, and realized the truth.
M. and his friend were at the door trying to get in
to see if I had committed suicide, rather than get up
so early to go fishing. I let them in and the smoke
and dust out, by opening the door.
The only damage was a few yards of torn plaster
from the ceiling, and a red streak across my forehead,
where the bullet had barely stung me. Luck again gets
in her fine work in my behalf.
We went out in the Gulf about ten miles, and had a
fine day's sport catching fish and drinking something
which was not sea water.
Finally I landed back in Denver, Colorado, to wait
for some other exciting operation to turn up. But I
didn't have long to wait, as a hurry-up call came from
Arizona for a good sleuth.
This operation was for N. V. Parke, owner of the
United Birdy Copper mine, of Jerome, Arizona, and
now a United States Senator from Montana. And while
on the work, I got a peep behind the curtain of "Fren
zied Finance."
In Arizona a big fight was on over the ownership of
the Equator mine, five miles south of the great United
Birdy.
I was sent to Jerome and Prescott a month or two
before the case was to come up in court at Tuscon. No
one was to know me but Asst. Supt. Allen and Supt.
Joseph Giroux, of the United Birdy mine, also Eugene
Giroux, brother to the superintendent.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Later, poor Mr. Allen got an overdose of "Frenzied
Finance" mixed with high wines and corn juice, and shot
his head off. I adopted the name of Lee Roy Davis.
In Prescott I met some old-time friends who knew
my right name and occupation, but I had no fear of
them giving me away. They were Mr. and Mrs. Golds-
worthy and their son, the railroad agent at that point,
and Mr. Johnny Kinney, with whom I got on my first
champagne "drunk" in Las Cruces, New Mexico, in 1881,
while a cowboy, and on trail of cattle stolen in Texas
by the notorious "Billy the Kid." Up to that time I
had never tasted champagne.
The A. T. & S. F. Ry. was then building down the
Rio Grande river, and had reached Rincon, forty miles
above Las Cruces, and La Mesilla, the twin towns. I
was working on Johnny Kinney secretly, so as to get in
with the noted "Hurricane Bill" and his gang of cattle
rustlers and desperadoes. Kinney then owned a butcher
shop at Rincon, the terminus of the railroad, and much
of his fresh beef came through "Hurricane Bill" and
his gang.
In Las Cruces I was invited by Kinney to accompany
him to La Mesilla, and attend a wedding in a wealthy
Mexican family. I did so, and champagne flowed like
water, giving me my first taste of high life, and a cham
pagne headache.
Of course, on being recognized by Kinney, in Prescott,
we had to "hark back" to that wine supper and dance in
La Mesilla. We did this between drinks at Mr. N. V.
Parke's expense.
In Prescott I made the acquaintance of Mr. Duke,
'A COWBOY DETECTIVE 239
the big man on the opposing side, so as to work on him
at the trial in Tucson. I also made the acquaintance
of many of his witnesses and thereby learned some of
their secrets.
At the trial in Tucson, Parke's and Duke's money
flowed like water down a duck's back, swift and easy.
Money was crowned King for the time being, Justice be
ing hog-tied and losing her scales in the shuffle.
Albert Ezekiel, a Deputy United States Marshal, who
afterwards joined the Dickenson force, was Duke's secret
man.
As I was supposed to be a tough cowboy out of a
job, Duke got me to do a little extra detective work
for him. He had me watching Joseph and Eugene Gi-
roux, so as to find out their plans. Often I would re
port of hearing conversations between the Giroux
brothers at the Xavier Hotel, which indicated an im
portant meeting after night at a certain place. I would
then have the Giroux brothers help carry out my scheme
as a blind, and Duke would help me "shadow" them,
which convinced him that I was working faithfully for
his interest.
It was a puzzle to Mr. Dtfke as to why I refused to
meet and consult with his leading attorney, Mr. V. E.
Block, now a United States Congressman from Colo
rado ; my excuse to him being that my cowboy friends
would mob me if they knew I was acting as a detective.
So for that reason, I wouldn't trust anyone but himself.
The truth of the matter was, I had met Attorney Block
in Colorado Springs, Colorado, while with Dr. J. T.
Remy, on the Spion Gold Mining Co. operation, and
feared being recognized by him.
240 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
The Duke crowd won the suit. The jury was bought
outright, after being locked up. An additional $10,000
of the slush fund drawn out of the bank at the last mo
ment did the work. A county officer, who was on the jury,
told each juryman who was sticking out for N. V.
Parke, to go out in the toilet room, which would be to
their advantage. The bailiff, who was into the scheme,
would accompany the stubborn juryman into the toilet
room where a man was planted with the cash. There
the bargain was arranged for high stakes, and our side
was left floundering in the "soup." I was on the "in
side" and knew what took place. My particular friend
on the jury held out until the last one. That night
when they were dismissed from the jury after bringing
in a verdict for the Duke side, this fellow almost shed
tears over the fact of going back on us, but he said he
couldn't resist the temptation of the fancy price offered
him in the toilet room.
The only consolation I could get was in helping him
spend some of this "tainted" money.
The next suit came up in Prescott, and it was rotten
to the core. My friend Johnny Kinney assisted me
here.
Robt. and Joe Morrison, Prescott attorneys, were as
sisting Attorney Block at this trial, and Joe Morrison
recognized me as C. Leon Allison whom he had met in
Santa Fe, New Mexico, when he was in the United
States Land Office there, with his father, Judge Morri
son. This affected my work, as he was suspicious of
me working against his client, Duke.
In Prescott I had two operatives from Denver assist
ing me.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 241
Albert Ezekiel had come from Tucson to work for
Duke.
Thousands of dollars of Parke's and Duke's money
were squandered every night on "Whiskey Row," where
a dozen saloons stood in a solid row fronting the Plaza
and Court House. The "girl" singers and the music on
the raised platforms in the rear of some of the saloons,
had a tendency towards making the old "Hasayampa"
sinners forget that they were born with Nature's full
allowance of manhood, and that the courts are intended
to deal out justice, regardless of the amount of "dough"
(money) in sight.
After another hard fought monied battle, the Duke
side won again. Of course, Duke had an even "break"
from a legal and just standpoint, but without their big-
slush fund to act as sauce for the roasted gander, they
never could have won.
The case went to the higher courts, and was later
settled mutually, so I was informed by Congressman
Block, whom I met under false pretenses many years
later, in Yampa, Colorado.
On this operation I had gained valuable lessons in high
finance and the ease of committing perjury, by other
wise good men and citizens.
Another operation on which I was detailed about the
year 1897, was the running down of a banker's son.
He had gotten away with large sums of money in a north-
middle State, to save his old father in a middle State,
from going to the wall financially. After putting the
father on his feet with the stolen money, the young man
crawled into a hole and pulled the hole in after him so
16
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
far as any trace of him remained. From a former chum
of this banker's son, — whom we will call Get-there-Eli, —
our clients received a "tip" that he was somewhere up
in British Columbia. Then I was sent to run him down.
After I had located Get-there-Eli in Greenwood City,
a new mining camp on the Kettle river, in British Co
lumbia, I proceeded to make his acquaintance and to win
his friendship, which I did finally. I found that Get-
there-Eli was the manager of a mine in Greenwood City,
and he was making piles of money selling stock at fif
teen cents a share in his new company, which had as
officers some of the "big guns" of Canada. He was go
ing under an assumed name, but looked exactly like his
photo which I carried, and answered the description to
a dot. On investigation I found him to be one of the
solid men of this new mining country. He was con
sidered an expert on mines, though on getting acquainted
with him, I found his knowledge on mining was of the
"graft" kind picked up from books, etc., as bait to catch
"suckers" and I soon found that the country was over
run with "suckers" ready to grab any kind of bait which
smelled of dividends.
In Prescott, A. T., I once asked my friend, Johnny
Kinney, how he managed to make such an easy living,
and as to how Prescott prospered as a mining center
with so few pay mines tributary to the little city. He re
plied: "You must remember that we get many English
capitalists to look over our country every year. English
men are like those fish with the big mouths, called suckers.
Their mouths are always open ready to receive a bait
that looks like a dividend. Of course, they get hooked,
but then new ones are coming out all the time."
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 243
I found Greenwood City swarming with this kind
of fish. The king fish of the bunch was a fine fellow
named Germain. He was past middle life and had ac
cumulated a nice little fortune in the drug business in
London, England. Hearing of the great Boundary Min
ing District, he sold out his drug business and came to
Greenwood City, arriving there a couple of months
ahead of me.
The snow lay deep on the ground, and he found many
old "stove-warmers" at the saloons, who had rich pros
pects to sell cheap, though they were covered with sev
eral feet of snow which would prevent a prospective pur
chaser from examining the veins until the snow melted
in the late Spring. So, for that reason, they would sell
cheap for cash. When Spring came, poor old Germain
had most of his fortune invested in these kinds of mines.
On the Queen's birthday, Get-there-Eli had got me to
sell some of his mining shares. On that day the English
"suckers" bite better than any other time. Of course,
I wanted to make myself solid with Get-there-Eli, by
selling a good bunch of his stock. It was "wild cat"
stock then, but the mine, which I examined, had the ear
marks of a possible producer in the future.
I have always been a good fisherman when I didn't
have to wait too long for the bite, and the larger the
fish the better. Therefore, my hook was baited and
thrown towards Mr. Germain. His mouth was open
and I landed him for $600 in cash, my commission be
ing $80. During the day I hooked a few smaller
"suckers" and made good wages.
Shortly after the Queen's birthday, Mr. Germain in.-
244 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
formed me that he had started two men to work on one
of his mines, as the snow had gone off in that neighbor
hood, a few miles north of town. He said he had great
confidence in my judgment on mining matters, and would
like for me to advise him as to the best way to develop
this mine quickly, so as to make a dividend payer of it.
He and I walked up to the mine one morning. We
found the two "Micks" down in the six-foot holes work
ing like Turks to keep warm. On our arrival the two
miners stopped work and Germain jumped down into
the open cut. He asked me to come down into the hole
so as to get a better look at the fresh ore. I told him that
it wasn't necessary as it was all alike, just a big blue
limestone ledge. The two miners looked daggers at
me, as I was taking the bread and butter out of their
mouths by knocking them cut of a job.
The smile faded from Germain's face like the dew from
a sun-kissed rose. With a look of despair, he asked if
I meant that he had no mine there. I told him such was
the fact. He then said : "What if my other mines turn
out like this one? If they do, I am a ruined man." I
advised him not to take my word for it, but to hire a
certain mining expert who lived in town and who had a
good reputation, to come up the next day and examine
the property. My advice was taken and the two miners
lost their jobs.
Germain's other mines were examined by the same
expert and when I was leaving Greenwood City, poor
Germain was packing up to leave the "bloody swindling
country" to return to his family in London, England,
a poorer but wiser man. I was truly sorry for the poor
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 245
fellow, and the $80 of his money which was in my pocket
seemed to be hot. I felt like giving it back to him, but
didn't dare to, as it would have placed me on the fool
list.
Germain was not alone in his misery when the snow
went off; the woods were full of the same kind of sick
"suckers."
When the time came for swooping down on Get-there-
Eli, our friends sent an agent from the east to pick the
poor fellow's financial bones. On the arrival of the agent
I steered Get-there-Eli to his room after supper, as the
agent was a supposed friend of mine from Texas, who
wanted to invest in mines. He and Get-there-Eli were
old friends, and to see the look on Get-there-Eli's face
when I shut the door and locked it and introduced him
to his former friend under his own name, was worth a
trip to British Columbia.
After shaking hands with the agent, poor Get-there-
Eli sat down on the bed, and with pale face, told me that
I had played my cards splendidly.
A deal was made to return the stolen money, — many
thousands of dollars, — if we would promise to not ex
pose him in British Columbia, where his reputation was
above par, and his chances of becoming a millionaire
good.
Our friends wanted their money back, and I had been
playing my hand with that object in view.
The agent started right back to the boyhood home
of Get-there-Eli to get the money from his parents,
while I remained to keep an eagle eye on G. T. E. We
became bedfellows and greatly attached to each other.
246 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
He was a fine, portly young man, with more than the
average allowance of brains. He and I kept up a cor
respondence for a couple of years, and he reported good
fishing and schools of new "suckers" arriving, eager to
take the hook. Since then I have lost all trace of him.
Finally I received a letter to discontinue and return
to Denver, as matters had been settled.
On this trip in British Columbia, I met two of the
old Coeur D'Alene dynamiters, Jack Lucy and "Spud"
Murphy. The latter threatened to kill me, but my friends
Geo. Mimms and Millionaire Jim Clark, in Grand Forks,
persuaded him out of the notion, as I was pretty handy
with a gun myself. I had helped send "Spud" Murphy
to the pen in 1892 from Coeur d'Alene City, Idaho.
I reached Denver after an absence of about three
months.
CHAPTER XI
BILL BLANK CATTLE-STEALING CASE — CHRISTMAS DIN
NER AND A DANCE ON THE L X CATTLE RANCH IN
TEXAS — LEFT AFOOT ON A NEW MEXICO DESERT
WITHOUT WATER.
My next operation out of the city was of a "Frenzied
Finance" order, wherein a man whom we will call Bill
Blank, a cattleman whom I had known by reputation
all my life, had swindled Kansas City money brokers
out of large sums of money through shady transactions.
This William Blank had come from a noted family of
Texas cattle raisers, and in a cattle deal Bill was "foxy"
and could out-fox a fox. It was also said that he had
nine lives like a cat. During the '8os, in New Mexico,
Curly Bill's outlaw gang shot him seven times through
the body and left him out on the desert for dead, so the
story goes. But he wasn't dead by a jugful, as a couple
of days later he crawled into his camp and soon after
began figuring on a big cattle deal in Montana.
Some Kansas City money brokers had furnished cash
to buy steers in San Antonio, Texas, the Spring previous
to my being detailed on the case, taking a mortgage on
the steers for security. The steers were to be driven to
the Indian Territory and there fattened for the fall mar
ket on buffalo grass.
As a precaution against loss, and so the money brokers
could identify their property in case of trouble, the tip
of one horn of each steer was cut off.
247
248 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
The cattle were taken to the Comanche Indian Re
servation in the western part of the Indian Territory,
and there turned loose to fatten. They were kept within
a certain range by Blank's cowboys riding lines. Late
in the Fall Bill concluded he didn't want to ship the
steers east for "feeders." Therefore he turned them over
to the brokers to get their money if they could, he him
self withdrawing from the scene. When the brokers
sent cowboys to gather up all steers with the tip of one
horn cut off, they failed to find any but a few of the
original number. They were not in the country, and
Blank said he couldn't account for them being gone un
less the Indians had killed them. Then I was detailed
to unravel the mystery.
From Denver I started on the Denver & Ft. Worth Ry.
for Amarillo, Texas, there to buy a horse and saddle
and ride to the range where the Blank steers had been
kept during the summer.
I arrived in Amarillo, Texas, at three o'clock Christmas
morning. A blizzard was raging and the weather was
very cold. Knowing that my old cowboy friend of early
days, Jack Ryan, kept a saloon in this town, I concluded
to go there and warm up. On entering Ryan's place
I found Jack behind the bar.
After shaking hands, Jack asked if I could recognize
any of my old friends among the drunken men sleeping
on the floor, chairs and tables. Casting my eyes over
the bunch I picked out my friend Burkley Howe sleeping
in a chair and dead to the world from over-indulgence in
"firewater." In looking at him my mind drifted back to
1878, when he, then a fine looking, sober young man of
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 249
high education and wealthy parents, came to the Pan
handle of Texas, then a wild, unsettled country, to learn
the cattle business. He came from Massachusetts, the
former home of David T. Beals, Erskine Clement and
Mr. Bates, for whom I was then employed. As I was
then boss of an outfit on the staked plains where the little
city of Amarillo now stands, Howe was turned over to
me to be taught the cattle business.
Now, here sat that same Burkley Howe on this Christ
mas morning, over 20 years later, a total wreck and
aged beyond his years from that greatest of all evils,
liquor.
Slapping him on the shoulder I said: "Hello there,
Burkley Howe, old boy!"
Before opening his eyes he yelled : "Well, I'll be d d
if there isn't Charlie Siringo!" He had recognized my
voice. He then jumped up and began hugging me and
declaring to the other drunken men who had awakened
when he yelled that I used to be the best wild-horse
rider in the United States. He had seen me ride some
"bad" horses and he couldn't brag on me enough. In
order to choke him off, I called the crowd up to take a
Christmas drink with me.
Ryan then informed me that my old friend, John Holli-
cott, the manager of the L X ranch, which I had helped
establish, was at a saloon across the street celebrating
Christmas. Running across the street I found Hollicott
dancing a jig and having a rattling good time, as he
called it. He almost choked me as he dragged me up to
the bar to take a Christmas drink "on him." The whole
crowd of a dozen men were called up to drink. I was the
250 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
hero of the moment with Hollicott. Finally we went
across to Jack Ryan's place and Howe joined in the
celebration.
At daylight Hollicott's coachman hitched up the
spirited team of mules and we started for the L X ranch
on the Canadian river 20 miles north, to take Christmas
dinner with the "boys" and girls there.
I left poor Howe laid out on the floor and I haven't
seen him since, but I was informed through friends that
he died a year or two later which proves what liquor
can do in a twenty years' tussle with robust manhood.
We had a cold ride against the raging blizzard with
the thermometer ten degrees below zero, hence the cork
was pulled from the five-gallon jug several times before
reaching the ranch.
It was about 10 A. M. when we reached the roaring
fire in the large stone fireplace which I had helped to
build over twenty years before. There was the identical
hearthstone put in place by W. C. Moore, the outlaw
murderer whom I met in Juneau, Alaska, and me.
Thoughts of bygone days flew thick and fast, and the
flames from the log fire seemed to be playing hide and
seek with other bright blazes of long ago. Possibly my
familiarity with the jug en route from Amarillo had
something to do with my imagination.
Hollicott introduced me to the Lee family who lived on
the ranch. The head of the household was Mr. Garnett
Lee, then came his good-looking, black-eyed wife and
their two beautiful young lady daughters. The younger,
a girl of 18, had just come from a college in middle
Texas to spend the holidays. She was indeed a little'
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 251
"peach," and it was all I could do to keep from falling in
love with her, even though I was old enough to be her
father.
Several of Hollicott's cowboys from outside camps
were on hand to sample the Christmas dinner. Two of
them, Charlie Sprague and Johnny Bell, were former
chums of mine and had worked under me when I was a
"boss" on this ranch. The others I had never met before.
About 2 P. M. the fat gobbler and .cranberry sauce, with
the side "fixens" were set on the same old table from
which the noted outlaw "Billy the Kid" and I ate meals
together twenty years previous. It was a dinner fit for
kings and queens, and we all did justice to it. When we
got through Mr. Turkey-gobbler looked as though he
had been to a bone-picking match.
The afternoon was spent "harking back" and sampling
the contents of the jug.
At night, after supper, one of the boys got out his
violin and the dance started. There being only three
ladies present we had to make a girl out of one of the
"boys" by tying a handkerchief around his arm, in order
to fill out the set.
Towards morning the jug began to work on Hollicott
and he wouldn't let me dance. He insisted on "harking
back" to the early days of our cowboy lives. He and I
first met in 1876 in Kiowa, Kansas, at which time he
was a cowboy for the Hunter & Evans cattle outfit, and
I was drifting around to give my mustache a chance to
grow.
John Hollicott was a high-bred gentleman, born in
bonnie Scotland. He was a fine-looking six-footer, with
252 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
a heart like an ox. Being born tired was his only fault,
especially when it came to getting up in the morning.
At one time he had worked under me on a big roundup
on the South Paloduro, and getting him up for the peep
o'day breakfasts was my hardest work. That same year,
1883, Mr. Hollicott took a jump from a common cowboy
to the manager of this big L X ranch, with its 50,000
head of cattle and the hundreds of fine horses. Hence
the fact of his being born tired didn't seem to work to
his disadvantage.
I had been considered as one of the candidates for this
fat position, but was told that some of the stockholders
in the company objected to me as not being tame enough
for such a responsible position. Therefore, Mr. Holli
cott won out, and years later, I was his honored guest.
Towards daylight the dance broke up and the coach
man drove Hollicott and me and our Christmas "jag" up
to the mouth of Pitcher Creek, a couple of miles, where
Hollicott had his private home.
We retired together in the same bed, and Hollicott
was soon fast asleep. But not so with me — I couldn't
sleep for "harking back" in my own mind to the day
when Mr. Bates and I slept at this very spot, and chose
this as the headquarters camp of the future L X ranch.
That was in the early fall of 1877, and "Deacon" Bates,
Mr. David T. Beals' partner, had brought me along into
this wild unsettled country to help him select a cattle
range for a new company which Mr. Beals had formed.
The country was then alive with buffalo and Indians.
Across the river from the mouth of Pitcher Creek, only
a mile, three hundred half naked and painted Apache
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 253
Indians were then camped. Hence Mr. Bates and I
didn't know what moment our scalps might be lifted.
We selected a range forty miles square. The grass was
fine and not a single cow-brute to eat it, until after the
first L X herds arrived from the north.
Now, as I lay by the side of my old cowboy companion,
the thoughts of those good old free and easy days came
back. But finally my brain felt like scrambled eggs — a
jumbled up mess of woolly buffalo, painted Indians,
yelling cowboys, bucking broncos, long horn cattle, fat
turkey gobbler, two pretty girls and a big brown jug;
then I fell asleep.
About 10 A. M. I was awakened by Hollicott, who was
up and holding the jug and a glass, ready to give me a
morning "bracer."
After a hearty breakfast I asked Hollicott to take me
back to Amarillo so that I could buy a horse and saddle
for my journey to the Indian Territory. He replied that
I had to lay over another night and "hark back," this be
ing a favorite expression of his. When I insisted that
it would take me at least a day or two to buy a horse and
saddle and that I was in a hurry to reach my destination,
he said: "Now, Charlie, don't mention horse and saddle
to me again, when you get ready to go the best horse
on this ranch will be brought up to the door, saddled
and ready to mount, and if that don't suit you, I'll send
my team and coachman to take you wherever you want
to go."
I remained, and in the afternoon we followed the pack
of hounds in lively chases after wolves and jack rabbits.
After breakfast next morning, a five-year old brown
254 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
horse, sixteen hands high, and in every respect a model
piece of horse-flesh, was brought to the door of the stone
house at the headquarters ranch, where lived the Garnett
Lee family. On his back was Johnny Bell's saddle.
This horse had just lately been broken, he having run
wild on the range all his life. I had known his sire and
his grandsire on his dam's side, and they were of the
best blood. The sire was Glen Alpine, a four-mile run
ning horse, and the grandsire on the dam's side was a
high-priced trotting stallion which Mr. Beals had shipped
from Boston, Mass., when the L X ranch was first
established. Mr. Beals had once presented me with one
of old Glen Alpine's colts, the pick of about fifty head,
but like many other fool cowboys I got short of cash
in a poker game and sold him for $200. Hence this
big snorting brown was the second gift-horse from the
same blood.
On mounting Glen Alpine, Jr., after bidding every
body, including the two pretty Lee girls, goodby, Holli-
cott told me never to sell this horse, but to shoot him
when I had no further use for his horseship. I promised
that he would never be sold.
Some of the ''boys" rode a few miles with me and they
said that Hollicott and the girls were no doubt dis
appointed at my horse not bucking, as they expected a
free show, with me as the star actor. They said this
horse was a hard bucker and was always ready to show
his skill. They couldn't account for him not bucking
that morning. But he made up for it the next morning
and on many occasions afterwards.
Two days later Glen Alpine, Jr., was left in a livery
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 255
stable at Panhandle City, and I boarded an A. T. & S.
F. Ry. train for Woodward, Oklahoma, one of the new
boom towns in the recently opened-to-settlement
"Cherokee strip."
In Woodward several former cowboy friends were
met, among them being two cowboys who had worked
under me on the range. One, Billy Bell, was a brother
to Johnny Bell who gave me the saddle. The other was
Jim Goeber, late sheriff of Potter County, Texas, in
which county the L X ranch and Amarillo are situated.
Here I also met Temple Houston, a son of the Lone Star
State hero, Sam Houston. He was a bright lawyer, and
through liquor, had become a man-killer, so I was told.
But whiskey soon put him under the sod, judging from
later newspaper accounts.
After investigating matters connected with my opera
tion, I returned to Panhandle City, where Glen Alpine,
Jr., was mounted, and a start made south.
One night was spent at the Charlie Goodnight ranch,
where next day I rode out in the pasture to see the
Goodnight herd of buffalo and some half-breeds.
Mr. and Mrs. Goodnight were not at home, therefore
I didn't get to see them. In the early days I had eaten
meals with them both in cow camps, and on one occasion,
Mrs. Goodnight, a good-hearted little lady, divided the
wild berries which she had gathered, with me. For this
I have always held her in high esteem, as in those days
women in the Panhandle country were scarce and far
between.
My work lay mostly in Greer County, Oklahoma,
Mangum being the county seat, and across the north fork
256 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
of Red River, on the Comanche Reservation in the Indian
Territory. This brought me onto ground gone over by
Tim W. in the Tuscarora, Nevada, operation.
Finally I rode to Vernon, Texas, on the Fort Worth
Railroad, to work on Mr. C. T. Merrick, a big cattle
king, now a banker in that town. From him I gained
much valuable information about the Bill Blank cattle,
without his knowing my object. I visited at his home
and became acquainted with his lovely wife. He is a
Prince and she a Queen, of the American kind.
In Vernon, Glen Alpine, Jr., was left in a livery stable
and I boarded a train for the cities of Fort Worth,
Dallas, Austin and San Antonio.
In Austin, the capital city, I made the acquaintance
of the noted Robert G. Ingersoll and his good wife. We
rode in the same car to San Antonio, and I had the
pleasure of a private talk with this great man.
In and around San Antonio I found out all about the
steers purchased by Bill Blank. Trips were made out on
the range where the steers had been purchased, and the
end of one horn cut off, and I also found where a man
whom we will call Capt. Dash had bought a herd of steers
with the same ranch-brands as the ones bought by Blank,
and the tips of both horns of these were cut off, and
thereby hangs the tale of this plot.
In the course of time I got back to Vernon and found
Glen Alpine, Jr., seal-fat, so that he bucked like the old
Harry when I mounted him.
Finally I bade goodby to my friends in Vernon and
started on a six hundred mile ride for New Mexico on
trail of a herd of cattle driven to New Mexico by Bill
Blank the previous summer.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 257
On reaching the staked plains my road was as level
as a floor for about two hundred miles. It was indeed
a revelation to me how these plains had settled up with
a hardy race of small ranchmen, with windmills to fur
nish water. In former days I had scouted all over these
plains in search of L X cattle which were in the habit
of following the buffalo south, and at that time there
were no settlers at all. Now, windmills could be counted
by the hundreds in a day's ride.
West of Plainview, near the eastern line of New Mex
ico, I stopped with a gentlemanly young nephew of Bill
Blank's so as to work on him and find out on the sly
about the herd of cattle driven to Arizona by his wide-
lawake uncle.
Before reaching the Pecos River my good name saved
me from losing supper and sleeping out in the cold with
out bedding. The ranches here were far between.
Night had almost overtaken me when I rode up to a
Mr. Taylor's ranch. Tying Glen Alpine, Jr., to the gate
post I knocked on the door. It required several knocks
to bring results. Finally the door opened just a little
and a nice-looking young woman who proved to be
Mrs. Taylor, asked what was wanted. I requested to
stay all night. She was sorry but had to refuse on ac
count of her husband being absent, and she and Miss
Alice Littlefield being alone. I asked if Miss Littlefield
was related to Jim and Geo. Littlefield, and to my friends,
Phelps and Tom White. She answered yes, that Alice
was a daughter of Jim's. Then I gave my true name
and Miss Alice opened the door wide and gave me a
hearty welcome, after introducing me to Mrs. Taylor.
17
258 'A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Miss Alice and I had never met, but knew each other
by reputation. I had worked on the cattle trail between
Texas and Kansas for her uncle and father before she
was born.
The two ladies had a big laugh over their plans to
fight me to a finish in case I insisted on stopping. Their
guns were primed and cocked for my benefit, as they
supposed I was a desperado, from the fact of my having
a Winchester rifle on my saddle and a pistol strapped
around my waist, for people in this country had become
civilized and quit loading themselves down with firearms.
I spent a pleasant night and found Mrs. Taylor to
be a jolly good little woman, and Miss Littlefield was a
lovely and highly educated young woman who seemed
out of place in this desolate country.
Two days later I put up for the night at the Lewis
ranch on the Pecos river, forty-five miles above the lively
town of Roswell, New Mexico.
I got an early start from the Lewis ranch next morn
ing, as the distance to the next water was about 90 miles
across a desert country, without roads or habitation.
A lunch was put up for me by Mrs. Lewis, and with
a full canteen of water I started. I had made a trip
over this desert country once before in 1881, with Lon
Chambers, when we rode from the L X ranch in Texas,
to Lincoln, New Mexico, there to meet Deputy United
States Marshal John W. Poe, and act as witnesses in
the noted "Billy the Kid" cattle stealing case. On the
trip we came very near perishing for want of water, as
our horses played out.
Recalling my past experience in crossing this desert,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 259
I couldn't help feeling a little shaky, starting out alone,
though I had great faith in my horse not playing out
this time, for I had come to the conclusion that there
was no getting tired with this son of that great horse,
Glen Alpine. With faith in one's horse the battle is
half won.
We headed for the Capitan mountains, which were in
sight. There being no road and the ground being rough
and soft, we made slow headway. Often "Glen" would
go up to his knees in the soft gypsum soil, which is full
of caves. At noon I stopped an hour to let "Glen"
graze and to eat my lunch. I had water, but poor "Glen"
had none. By sundown we had traveled about fifty miles,
which was equal to seventy-five over a good road. "Glen"
was beginning to act tired, though I think it was more
from the lack of water, as the day had been very hot.
There was one small drink left in the canteen and I had
been saving it for the past couple of hours as a life-
preserver.
Just at dusk I dismounted to fix the saddle tightly
on "Glen's" back for the thirty-mile night ride to water.
The front cinch was tightened and I was pulling up the
flank one, when "Glen" went to bawling and pitching.
He bucked 'round and 'round, taking me with him. I
hung onto the bridle reins for dear life. Finally I had
to turn loose, and "Glen" was soon only a streak of brown
in the twilight. At last the streak disappeared entirely.
He had gone back the way we had come, at a clip which
did credit to his ancestors. I swore a blue streak for
not drinking the last water in the canteen while I had
the opportunity.
260 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
I stood still for a few moments, wondering what to do.
There to the southwest lay the dim outlines of the Capi-
tan mountains, a walk of thirty miles to the first water.
And towards the east, nothing but a desolate-looking
stretch of darkness. I could still see "Glen's" tracks, and
my mind was finally settled on following them so long as
they could be seen. Therefore I struck out in a trot
"all same" Comanche Indian on trail of his supper when
following a wounded deer.
A run of about one mile brought me to where I could
no longer see the tracks. There I stopped to go back,
rather than risk the sixty mile walk to the Pecos River
without water. I began to wish that I had given up the
detective business before starting into it, for the future
looked a little scaly to me then. My tongue was already
swollen slightly, and there was no guessing how it would
be by morning.
I could see a dark object which looked like a clump
of bushes, off to the east about a quarter of a mile. A
faint hope sprung up in my heart that this might be
"Glen" who had gotten his foot in the bridle reins and
had to stop. Finally I concluded to investigate this dark
object and when within a hundred yards of it a loud
snort reached my ears and away he flew. My heart
beat with joy at being so near water, even though it was
out of reach. "Glen" was soon out of sight jagain, but
I ran in the direction he had gone. In a few moments
the dark object hove in sight again. Here I concluded
to use my brain against common horse sense. I walked
leisurely around the dark spot until I was east of it. Then
I began to whistle favorite tunes, now and then sitting
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 261
down to give "Glen" a chance to get used to me. When
within a few yards of him he began to snort. I sat down
and pulled grass, speaking to him all the while. On
getting hold of the broken bridle rein I felt just like
I did when the soldiers arrived in Wallace, Idaho, — like
shouting hurrah for America.
The canteen and rifle were still on the saddle. The
water was gone — out of sight, just as soon as the canteen
could be put to my parched lips.
On mounting "Glen" I gave him to understand, by
tickling him with the spurs, that he couldn't lag back
and pretend that he was tired, as he did an hour earlier.
About midnight we reached the slope of the Capitan
mountains. Then "Glen" was unsaddled and staked out
to a bush, and I lay down on the saddle blanket with the
saddle for a pillow, and went to sleep.
Next morning at 8 o'clock we filled up with water out
of a large reservoir on the wagon road between Whke
Oaks and Roswell, and at 10:30 A. M. we ate a square
meal in the town of White Oaks.
As this town had been my headquarters during the
winter of 1880 and '81, when in charge of a squad of
cowboys on trail of the noted "Billy the Kid" and his
desperate gang of outlaws, I was soon shaking hands
with old friends. Among them were Attorney John Y.
Hewett and his partner, Wm. Watson, then the well-to-do
owners of the rich Old Abe gold mine, of White Oaks.
Of course, Judge John Y. Hewett and I "harked back"
to the winter of 1880 when I gave him his first law
case. He had drifted into this new mining camp and
had put out a shingle as a lawyer.
262 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
During the winter one of my "rangers" as they were
called by the natives, got into a shooting scrape with
Sheldon, the town schoolmaster, and I hired Lawyer
Hewett to defend my man, "Big-foot Wallace," whose
right name was Frank Clifford.
The trial came off before Judge Frank Lea, Justice of
the Peace, and Hewett won his first case by freeing
"Big-foot Wallace."
But poor big-hearted "Big-foot Wallace" became an
outlaw after quitting my outfit in Texas the following
summer. I still retain the tintype photo of him sent
to me from Old Mexico after he had shaken the dust
of Uncle Sam's domain from his number ten boots. In
his letter he bade me goodby, saying that in all likelihood
we would never meet again.
He and Ethan Allen, of White Oaks, had just held
up a store and secured money and jewelry, at Los Lunas,
New Mexico, on the Rio Grande River. At Socorro a
posse of officers surrounded them. Young Allen was
captured, but "Big-foot Wallace" made his getaway by
swimming his horse across the raging Rio Grande. The
officers dare not follow as the river was up and danger
ous for man and beast.
Young Allen was held at Socorro, the scene of the
robbery, and placed in the town jail along with a negro
criminal, and the same White Oaks schoolmaster, Shel
don, whom "Big-foot Wallace" had the shooting scrape
with. Mr. Sheldon had been on a drunk that day and
was put in jail to sober up.
That night a mob of Mexicans broke open the jail,
liberating the negro and hanging Mr. Sheldon and
BIGFOOT WALLACE.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 263
Ethan Allen. They did this to spite the white "gringos"
for hanging the Baca brothers in Socorro a short time
previous. Of course, this was tough on the well-educated
eastern schoolmaster, whost worst sin was a love for
"fire-water." Had "Big-foot" been captured, he too
would have met the same fate, and he and Sheldon
could have buried their hatchet of bitter hatred while
the ropes were being adjusted about their necks. Such
was life in the untamed west.
In White Oaks I also met other old friends, among
them being Jones Taliaferro and his wife. Also Dr. M.
G. Paden and Paul Mayer. The latter owned the livery
stable of the town and his brother was the "City"
Marshal.
Marshal Mayer had a complicated case on his hands,
and knowing me to be a Dickenson detective, he asked
that I solve it for him.
A miner with a sauerkraut brogue had been paid off
the day before, and put the $300 in a trunk in his cabin,
and while he was up town that night, some one with an
axe broke in the door, then broke the trunk open and
skipped with the money. I told Mayer that I was too
tired to do my best as a sleuth, but that if he would
bring "Dutchy's" partner, Williams, of Irish extraction,
to my room at the Hotel Ozane and leave him locked
up with me, I would do my best to recover the money.
Williams stood on his dignity for awhile, then first
on one foot, then the other, until he became tired and
broke down. The $300 was turned over to poor
"Dutchy," who took the first stage for the railroad. He
wanted to pay me for my trouble, but I refused it, some
thing out of the ordinary for a detective.
264 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
This gave me a local standing as a sleuth, and quieted
my nerves after that hard ride, by swelling my head, thus
giving the blood more room for circulation.
Two days later I started north, continuing on trail of
a young Texan whom I will call "Cunny" for short. He
had been a cowboy for Bill Blank at his White
Mountain ranch in Arizona, and had helped drive the
cattle which I thought might be some of the stolen steers
from the Indian Territory to Arizona.
One hundred miles north of White Oaks I found
"Cunny" in the mining camp of San Pedro. We soon
became warm friends and I worked him for all he knew,
without his knowing who I was. But later I told him
my business, and our friendship continued.
My investigation showed that none of the steers had
been driven to the Arizona ranch. They had been
stolen in a more honorable way, a way that few old-
time Texas cattlemen would call stealing. It was on the
order of horse trading in Texas, — to the sharpest trader
belong the spoils. In fact, many Texans would have
patted Bill Blank on the back with "well done, Bill old
boy."
The scheme was well carried out from start to finish,
as follows:
Bill Blank and Capt. Dash had laid the plot together,
so I was informed, and my whole work indicated that
it was true.
In the early Spring both went to San Antonio, Texas,
and bought each a herd of steers from the same ranch
men, so that the cattle would have the same brands on
them. The herds were put up at the same time. Capt.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 265
Dash cut the tip of both horns off, while Bill Blank cut
the tip of one off. This was done supposedly, to tell
them apart, should they ever become mixed together,
as both herds were bound for the Indian Territory. On
the Comanche reservation both men had secured leases
of a certain stretch of range, adjoining each other. Bill
Blank had borrowed the money with which to buy his
steers, giving a mortgage on a certain number of cattle
with designated ranch brands, and the end of one horn
cut off. Being on adjoining ranges the two herds na
turally became mixed, and the summer and fall was spent
by the Blank and Dash cowboys in cutting the remain
ing horn off the Bill Blank steers, thus transferring them
from Blank to Dash.
As the steers waxed fat in the Fall Capt. Dash had
many feeders to sell on the eastern market, and the cow
boys were kept busy gathering to ship. When Capt.
Dash was through shipping, Bill Blank concluded to let
the brokers in Kansas City, who had loaned him the
money, foreclose the mortgage, but they couldn't find
anything to foreclose on. Bill Blank had taken a back
seat from whence he could, with a broad smile, view the
windup. And then your humble servant came onto the
scene and took a front seat, playing one of the last acts
in the drama.
In order to keep in touch with "Cunny" in case we
needed him as a witness, I hired him to take charge of
my Sunny Slope ranch, a couple of miles from Santa
Fe, New Mexico, which I was fixing up for a "hobby
horse" to ride in my old age. I really needed a man to
run the place, and by hiring "Cunny" I could kill two
birds with one stone.
266 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
It required two days of my valuable time to get
"Cunny" pulled away from his Mexican sweetheart in
San Pedro.
Santa Fe is only forty miles north of San Pedro,
therefore we didn't have far to go. "Glen" was left on
my ranch in "Gunny's" care, while I returned to Den
ver and discontinued the operation, after being on it
about four months.
I have never heard what action our clients took against
Bill Blank. They may have exposed the scheme to
Blank and got a partial settlement, and again, they may
have concluded to pocket their losses and in future lock
their stable door before the horse is stolen, especially if
old-time Texas cowmen of the tricky horse-trading kind
are prowling around.
"Cunny" was never called on as a witness against Bill
Blank. He had charge of my ranch for two years and
then went to mining on a prospect in which I was in
terested. Thus he swore off being a wild and wooly
cowboy, and is now a prosperous mine expert in the
booming gold districts of Nevada.
Glen Alpine, Jr., lived e. retired easy life on my Sunny
Slope "hobby-horse" and died at the age of fifteen,
though he never quit the habit of bucking, even in his
old age.
On one occasion he gave a "bloody" Scotchman a
"touch of high-life," which was bloody in fact, at the
windup.
John Hart, a friend of mine from Denver, but now
living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, wanted the satis
faction of riding a good horse once in his life, so I let
him ride "Glen."
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 267
We started from the Sunny Slope ranch to take a
forty mile ride to Bland. I was on my pet mare, Lula.
Now, Hart was an expert as a carpenter and contrac
tor, but as a bronco buster he proved a total failure
before we had gone ten miles on our journey. Saying,
"Come on Hart," I started Lula off in a swift gallop. In
a moment I looked back just in time to see poor Hart
in the air and "Glen" running towards me. Hart swore
he didn't do a thing but dig the "bloody hold 'orse" in
the side with his heels, after I had started. Having some
sticking plaster in my pocket, Hart's face, hand and el
bow were patched up. He said the hard stony ground
had come up and struck him before he was ready, for
he figured that one-half of a somersault more would
have saved his face by landing him on the fleshy part
of his pants.
Hart rode Lula the balance of the trip.
CHAPTER XII
KANSAS DAISY AND BUTTERFLY MINE-SALTING CASES —
TRAMPING ON THE OREGON SHORT LINE RAILWAY
COMPANY'S SYSTEM — A BIG ORE-STEALING CASE IN
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH — TRIP TO BRITISH CO
LUMBIA — PLAYING OUTLAW IN CRIPPLE CREEK,
COLORADO.
During the next couple of years I led a strenuous life
unraveling ore-stealing and mine-salting cases.
First came the Kansas Daisy case, of Prescott, Arizona.
A Mr. B. of that enterprising town had put out a bait
and caught some big fish in England. When the afore
said big fish, who were organized as the Anglo-Con
tinental Mining Co. began to smell a "mice," they called
on the Dickenson Agency to investigate and see if their
corn-crib really contained rats. Hence, I was sent to do
the cat act.
While in Prescott, and after satisfying ourselves that
the Kansas Daisy mine had been salted, some mine ex
perts, with Detective Willis A. Loomis (now Chief of
Detectives in Denver) to guard the samples of ore until
safely in the Wells Fargo Express office, arrived from
Denver to sample the property. On these samples be
ing assayed in Denver, they showed an average value of
$i per ton of ore, instead of the $8 per ton as reported
by ihe German expert sent from London by the com-
268
rA COWBOY DETECTIVE 269
pany, and on whose advice the mine was bought at a
high price.
The Denver law firm of Thornes, Bryan & Wye had
charge of the work, and they gave orders that I dig up
evidence as to how the trick was done.
Finally, I went into partnership with a saloon man
named Joe Hobbs, a brother-in-law to the noted Deputy
United States Marshal Joe La Fors, of Cheyenne, Wyom
ing (whose testimony hung stock detective Tim Corn),
and with a miner named John Forbes, in the mining
business. We bonded a gold claim on Groom Creek and
started a shaft down on the vein. I had made the ac
quaintance of Joe Hobbs while working on the John
Hillman operation in Jerome, and he knew me only as
Lee Roy Davis. He had a brother-in-law, Jeff La Fors,
in Prescott, who gave me much assistance without know
ing it.
One day in March when the streets of Prescott were
covered with a deep snow, Alex G. and I boarded a train
for Los Angeles, California, there to prepare for a trip
to Alaska, as Mr. G. thought.
Before departing from Prescott, I shook hands with
my many newly-made friends, among whom was "Bucky"
O'Neil, afterwards a Captain in Roosevelt's Rough
Riders, who was killed by a bullet through his head in
the charge up San Juan Hill in Cuba.
Next morning Alex G. and I awoke in the land of
roses. The contrast was indeed great, from deep snow
to roses in bloom on nearly every vacant lot. In Los
Angeles we settled down to a life of ease, at the expense
of the Anglo-Continental Co. I had been to this city
before, but as a bum tramp only.
270 "A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Alex G. and I made pleasure trips to all places within
reach of Los Angeles. We even went to Tia Juana, Old
Mexico, and spent a week or two at San Diego.
After I had secured a full confession from Alex G. as
to how he and Mr. B. had salted the old German ex
pert's samples as they were being taken from the Kansas
Daisy vein, and also after being hoisted to the surface
and there sacked and sealed, Attorney Bryan arrived
from Denver to assist me in closing the operation; that
is, as far as my work was concerned.
Attorney Bryan and I met to arrange for the windup.
I had already planned most of it in my reports which
had, been read by Mr. Bryan.
At 10 A. M. one day, an officer of the United States
Commissioners Court arrested Alex and me in my room.
I was indignant at the arrest, while Alex G. was fright
ened. On the way to court Alex whispered to me not
to give anything away which he had told about the Kan
sas Daisy.
When brought before the United States Commissioner
I was put on the stand first. Attorney Bryan went at
me as though he thought I had worked on the Kansas
Daisy at the time of its sale, and finding that I had not,
he asked if I had ever heard any one say that the Kansas
Daisy had been salted. I kept avoiding the question and
wouldn't give a direct answer, as though I didn't want
to give Alex G. away. He frowned at me once, as much
as to warn me to "stand pat." But finally Mr. Bryan
pinned me to the wall so that I had to answer yes or no.
Then I had to admit that Alex, G. had told me all about
the way he and Mr. B. had salted the samples. When I
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 271
started to tell the truth, Alex turned pale and became
nervous.
After finishing my testimony, Alex was put on the
stand, and just as I had guessed, he confessed the whole
crime rather than make me out a liar and ruin his chances
of the trip to Alaska. He made a sworn confession, which
implicated Mr. B. and made the German expert an "easy
mark."
Soon after my return to Denver, this same old German
expert got caught with another salty fish-line, which
caused the Anglo-Continental Mining Co. a heavy loss.
Mr. A., of Denver, had baited the hook, and the Swede
saloon keeper, Knute Benson, of Silverton, Colorado,
who owned the Butterfly mine, did the rest. When the
$20,000 mill was completed and started up, it was found
that they had no mine.
The honest, easy-going old German expert had been
salted again, and I was sent to Silverton to work on the
saloon man, Benson. He and I became chummy and
made several trips out in the mountains. He said that
he went into the deal so as to get a $20,000 mill put up
free; that he knew the company would forfeit it ac
cording to the contract, rather than pay the balance of
the purchase money, and then he and Mr. A. would
develop a pay mine to furnish ore for their mill.
We failed to secure evidence enough to convict any
one, so the Anglo-Continental Co. lost what they had
invested, unless they possibly squeezed something out
of A. and Benson, on the strength of my reports. I
never learned how the matter came out, except that I
heard the mine and mill fell back to Mr. Benson, and
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
that the German expert washed his hands of the whole
American continent.
I had been on this case a couple of months, and on
the Kansas Daisy about four or five months.
About this time another tramp operation fell to my
lot. It was on the whole system of the Oregon Short
Line Ry. in Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, Montana and Ore
gon. The work was being done for the manager of that
company. Mr. Roycroft of Salt Lake City, Older
Galvan, and Mr. Vanderman, officials of the road, also
had a hand in the operation.
On this work I had several narrow escapes from
death, once from a wreck, when the end of a box car in
which I was riding was smashed in, and another time
in Idaho an angry brakeman came very near kicking me
off a freight train while running twenty-five miles an
hour. It was a cold night, and I was lying face down
on top of a box car to shield myself from the cold wind
that was blowing. He slipped up on me and gave me a
kick in the ribs which nearly sent me rolling off the car.
In an instant my hand was on old Colts 45, and I thought
seriously of shooting the fellow, but satisfied my wounded
feelings by calling him all the pet names in the cowboy
dictionary which has never been printed.
He slowed the train down so that I could get off, but I
made him stop it to a standstill. We were both stand
ing on top the car, and he was kept at a distance by
threats of killing him. I didn't propose to have a wrest
ling match in a place of that kind.
A week or two later, I caught this same "brakey" by
being with a squad of bums. He didn't recognize me,
and we all paid him for a ride to the end of his run.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 273
While I was on this bum operation, deals were made
for whole box car loads of sheepshearers, and often
I would be one of them. We would be packed like
sardines when the crowd was large, so as to get us all
into one box car, then the door would be fastened from
the outside. A fine chance for a jumbled-up mess of
human hash, in case of a bad wreck. With the freight
crews this traffic in sheepshearers was fine "picking"
from a financial standpoint, for they traveled from place
to place in droves, a mixture of all nationalities, even to
the chili-eating sons of old Montezuma. The fares were
$J apiece for each division.
While on this operation I visited the great Mormon
Jubilee, the fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of Utah
in Salt Lake City. It was a free show which beat any
thing I had ever seen. Every Mormon in the State who
could raise the "price" was there.
On the day of the big street parade I had the ex
perience of knowing how a hobo feels when he falls in
love.
I was standing on the sidewalk in the hot sun, trying
to get a view of the parade in the middle of the street.
Directly in front of me stood a beautiful young lady.
She was small, and I could have seen the parade over
her head if it hadn't been for her silk umbrella. I finally
became impatient, and tapping her on the shoulder, asked
if she wouldn't let me hold her umbrella so that I could
get a view. She turned square around and faced me.
Then was when Cupid first got in his work. Up to this
time, I had not seen her pretty face. She looked me in
the eyes, then glanced down at my dirty and ragged
18
274 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
clothes. I smiled and said: "You need have no fear
of me stealing your umbrella. All I want is to make
the umbrella do double duty by shielding both of us from
the sun, and at the same time allow me to see the parade."
She gave me the umbrella. Soon she became talka
tive, and explained some of the interesting sights in
the parade. Among them being her aunt, Mrs. Watson,
sitting on the deck of the Brookline — a ship that repre
sented the one that brought her aunt over the ocean.
Hence, I concluded that this pretty little lady might be
named Watson. I had made up my mind to ask her
name, but just then a "Weary Willie" chum of mine
stepped up saying: "Say, Cully, drop dat rag — meaning
the umbrella — and I'll steer you to a joint where they
sell two whopping big schooners (glasses of beer) for a
nickel."
Turning around and seeing my unwashed and ragged
churn the lady reached for her "rag," and at the same
time gave me a look with her pretty dark eyes which
froze little Cupid to a "stand still."
That night while riding in a box car loaded with hobos
I vowed this would be my last tramp operation, for I
had had more than my share of that kind of work. I had
made one hobo test on the D. & R. G. Ry. system, in ad
dition to the ones recorded herein.
I arrived in Denver after being absent about two
months.
Later, I was told of how on the strength of my re
ports, every freight brakeman between Salt Lake and
Butte City, except one who was in the hospital, got
"fired" from the Oregon Short Line service. Also many
freight conductors and engineers "got it in the neck."
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 275
Tramping on a railroad is a fine schooling for a de
tective, but very tough on one's sensitive nature; hence
only one in twenty operatives make a success at playing
hobo.
These train crews had been "coining" money, and
they had become so greedy that often a poor hobo who
was known to be sick and out of money, would be put
off the train between stations on the desert, just because
he refused to give up some little relic, such as a ring,
watch or pin, possibly remembrances from dear ones
at home. The "brakeys" would even take pocketknives
for fares. It seems that greed for the "almighty dol
lar" is planted in some bosoms, be they high up in the
social swim or low down in the muddy pool. But in
my tramp work I have found hundreds of "brakeys"
whose hearts would melt at my pitiful tale of woe of
being flat broke. Some have even offered me money to
buy a square meal, besides giving me the free ride.
Next I was detailed to go to Salt Lake City, Utah, to
assist operative Billy S. on an ore-stealing case which
he had been working on for a couple of months. Billy
S. had made himself "solid" with one of the leaders who
were stealing ore by the wholesale, but as yet he had no
positive evidence.
I landed in Salt Lake City, the big town with wide
streets and pretty swift girls, as an outlaw from New
Mexico and Texas. My name was Lee Roy Davis. As
on outlaw I didn't go to killing men, but I soon had some
of the gang afraid of me. Once when I had filled up
on "puss cafe" in the New Resort saloon, with Billy
Best as mixologist, I made the gang think I was on the
276 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
warpath. I pulled out my old Colts 45, and striking the
table with it, declared I was a wolf and that that was my
night to howl. The result was, Billy S. had to help pull
Joe Buttinski out from under the table and assure him
that I wasn't as bad as I looked
To illustrate the splendid memory of some men, I
will cite the case of an ex-cowboy by the name of O. D.
Brown, who is a trusted official in the Salt Lake City
postoffice. On first arriving in the city, I called at the
postoffice to ask for Lee Roy Diavis' mail. Brown stuck
his hand through the window and said: "Hello there,
Charlie Siringo, shake." I told him my name was Davis.
He replied that he would remember the name and forget
my right one. He then told where we had run cattle to
gether in Texas, over 20 years before. Then I remem
bered him and shook his hand.
We were together many times during my couple of
months stay, end he thought because I had committed a
crime, was why I had changed my name. Of course,
this didn't sit well on my pride, but I thought it best to
let matters remain as they were.
Brown finally secured me a fine job to take charge of
a mule train for a friend of his in Peru. I was to ac
company the mules on the ship and become one of them,
as it were. In introducing me to this friend, Brown
told him that I was just the man he wanted, as I could
ride anything that wore hair, talk Mexican, and could
be trusted. Both were greatly disappointed when I de
clined the position at any price. Brown took me to one
side and said I was making a mistake by leading a wild
life and remaining here where I might be captured any
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 277
time. I told him that I would rather be in the peniten
tiary in America than associating with mules in a Peru,
South America, mining camp.
In the course of a month or so, Billy S. and I be
gan to note results from the tons of beer and liquor con
sumed while with the gang. Often Billy S. and I would
make night raids on a sampler or a smelter to get sam
ples of the stolen ore-pile, which was called the "Jessie,"
by the ore thieves. Then again, we would break the
seals on cars loaded with stolen ore, so as to get samples
as evidence.
On one of these night raids into a carload of stolen
ore, I flim-flammed our client, Banker Z. B. James, a
reputed millionaire, who also owned mines and a smelter.
We would notify Mr. James on what nights these raids
were to be made, and he would sit up at his residence
waiting for us. In his presence, the samples would be
marked so that we could identify them in court.
In order to mark a chunk of ore different from the
rest, I asked Mr. James for a silver dollar to mark it
with. He gave me the dollar, and when through with
it I put it in my own pocket, and on reaching the street
Billy S. remarked that I was the slickest daylight thief
he had ever seen. We had a big laugh over the mat
ter, and at the New Resort saloon the dollar was blown
in for mint juleps, and they tasted sweeter "all same"
stolen watermelons.
Of course, there was no necessity of my stealing this
dollar from Banker James, as he was a liberal client, and
allowed us to spend "all kinds" of money for drinks and
high living. But I wanted to play "foxy" and flim-flam
378 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
a millionaire banker before his own eyes, and it was done
so easily I told Billy S. that next time I would get a
$5 gold piece out of him.
A couple of nights later we made another raid, and I
asked Mr. James for a $5 gold, piece to mark a certain
piece or ore, so that the marks would be yellow. He gave
me the gold piece, but when I had finished, his strong
right hand was extended ready to receive back his five
gold "plunks." Of course, it was returned as though I
had no intention of keeping it. I caught Billy S.'s eye
and he was grinning like a 'possum eating yaller- jackets.
This time it was "foxy" James instead of "foxy" yours
truly. No doubt he had noticed me put the silver dollar
in my pocket, hence concluded to keep a string on the
gold piece.
After a couple of months' work, we had sufficient proof
to land half a dozen men in the penitentiary, one wealthy
man among them. This big fish had a nice family who
swam in the same social pool with Banker James, and
Mr. James hated to injure the family. Therefore, he con
cluded to make out a bill for the many thousands of dol
lars' worth of ore stolen, and for the expenses incurred
by Billy S. and me, and present it for payment, the bill
to be backed up with the proof of guilt. If paid, mat
ters would be dropped with a warning to sin no more,
especially against the James' family. But if he failed
to toe the mark, then the services of Billy S. and myself
would be required longer. A settlement was no doubt
made. Mr. James told us with one of his broad-gauge
smiles, which denoted victory, that our work was ended
and we could return to Denver.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 279
In this case one big fish instead of swallowing the lit
tle fishes saved a lot of little ones from going to the "pen."
On arriving in Denver, I got a jolt which shook my
globe-trotting desires to the very foundation.
I had been receiving letters from Supt. McCartney for
the past three weeks, asking if I couldn't crowd the Salt
Lake City operation and finish it up soon, so as to re
turn to Denver, as he needed me. I would answer back
that the work couldn't be hurried, which was a lie of the
deepest dye. The truth was, we could have closed the
work two weeks sooner than we did. But I didn't know
but that he had another tramp operation for me. I didn't
believe in dropping a good thing so long as it could be
held onto without injuring the Agency.
Mr. McCartney informed me that my friend, W. O.
Sayles, had started two days before for New York City,
there to ship for London, England, to meet our clients,
and from there go to South Africa to work up a big ore-
stealing case, which would take a year or two, and that
the New York office and Mr. Roy J. Dickenson had
selected me for the operation and had been waiting on
me for nearly a month, but that the clients in London
got tired of waiting, and then Sayles was detailed to go.
He was allowed to take along another operative, Hiram
Oker, to help him.
My bones ached for a week on account of losing this
trip to Europe. ,
Next, I was sent to British Columbia to run down a
George H., who had salted a mine in Old Mexico. Mr.
Wheezer being the victim, and Thornes, Bryant & Wye
being our clients.
280 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
It would require too much space to record my many
ups and downs in British Columbia trying to find a trace
of Geo. H.
On the way to Ft. Steele after leaving the head of
Lake Kootenai, I had a tussle with a blizzard when the
thermometer registered forty degrees below zero. It was
December. I was in an open cutter and for twenty-eight
miles the wind kept whistling a tune through my whis
kers, which sounded like: "Say, old boy why didn't
you save your summer's wages and buy an overcoat?"
I had on only a light leather frock coat. This pure and
innocent new-born blizzard from the frozen north would
never have asked the question, had it known of the many
inducements for spending a summer's wages in Salt
Lake City. It may have frolicked behind the curtains in
an Eskimo Indian village, but that isn't sporting by
gaslight in the Mormon capital.
Finally I decided to end this wild goose chase in the
region of the North Pole, and start right by going to
California and working on the relatives of Geo. H's wife.
This had been tried, without success, but not by yours
truly.
At the foot of Mt. Shasta, the snow-capped mountain
of northern California, in Siskiyou county I landed in
a sleepy little town called Gazelle. I put up in an old
fashioned country hotel with a large fireplace and plenty
of wood to feed the fire which was kept burning night
and day. This country hotel was the home of the Ed-
son brothers, wealthy cattlemen. It was here that Geo.
H. formerly lived and married one of Siskiyou county's
pretty daughters. The parents of Geo. H.'s wife lived
on a ranch in this county and so did a married sister.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 281
I spent a couple of days roasting my shins before the
log fire and getting my breath after those cold rides
in the north. And while doing so, I hobnobbed with
English royalty in the person of a royal son, or grand
son, of Lord Nelson, the Dewey of England. He was a
fine young man, and was on a bear hunt around the
world. I happened to see him kill a neighbor's pet coon
by mistake as he swore to the enraged rancher; but
whether he mistook it for a bear or a wildcat, I never
knew.
Finally I put spurs to my two by four brain and
started out to work on the sister of Geo. H.'s wife.
A short ride on the train brought me to the town of
Montague. Tw.o miles from that town was the ranch of
the lady's husband. He owned a valuable ranch well
stocked with cattle. We will call him "Huze," for short.
The night was dark, and it was 8 130 p. M. when I stood
at the front gate of "Huze's" residence in the country.
I aimed to get there late so they would have to keep
me over night. The only light in the house was in the
kitchen in the rear of the building. My mind was so
taken up with the operation that I forgot about dogs. In
slipping around to a man's back door, I generally have
one hand on old Colts 45, but not so this night. Just
as I turned the corner of the house and was within 10
feet of the kitchen door, here came a Siberian blood
hound, which loomed up like a mustang in a fog. She
was as large as a good-sized colt. She had sprung out
of a dog house in a corner of the back yard. I did a
double stunt with lighting rapidity, — sprang for the
kitchen door, turning the knob with my left hand and
283 'A COWBOY DETECTIVE
pulling old Colts 45 with the right. The door was slam
med in the dog's face, just in the nick of time to prevent
a tragedy. The dog had thrown her weight against the
door, and it was all I could do to close it. She was
growling and raving.
As soon as the catch snapped in the door, my pistol
was back in its place out of sight, and I faced the big
fat man and his small young wife. Both were on their
feet and thunderstruck. I begged their pardon for in
truding so suddenly. The lady replied that it was lucky
I did, as the "doggy" would have eaten me up alive,
as she had pups and was more vicious than usual.
After introducing myself as a Texan who had made a
little fortune in mining, and who was in search of a good
cattle ranch, I told of how people in Montague had re
ferred me to them as wanting to sell out. "Huze" re
plied that he would sell if he could get his price, which
was 'way up into the thousands. I informed him that if
the place suited I wouldn't stand back for the sake of
a few thousand dollars, more or less.
Then I was invited to stay all night and examine the
ranch and stock next day. By 10 P.M. the fat man was
dozing after reading a newspaper, and the little lady
and I were going over the family album which I had
picked up from the table. She pointed out her two sis
ters' photographs, one being married and the other sin
gle. The single sister was actually pretty, and I told
her so. I asked where she lived and she hesitated as
though not wanting to answer. I broke the strain by
asking if she was now in California. She replied no, that
she was with her other married sister up in British Co-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 283
lumbia. I looked her in the face and asked what part
of British Columbia, as I had made my stake mining up
there. She replied: "Oh they live near Victoria." I
said : "Why that's where I'm going to close up my min
ing deal. Maybe I'll see them up there. What's their
names?" The names were given, then I questioned her
as to the particular place they lived at. She acted as
though she didn't want to tell, but the questions were
so pointed that she couldn't avoid answering without
taking chances of insulting me, and thereby losing a
possible sale of their ranch and stock.
After finding out that Geo. H. and his wife and her
pretty young sister lived in Alberni, an Indian village on
the Alberni canal, a couple of days' travel by steamer
from Victoria, the Capital of British Columbia, my day's
work was finished and I was ready for bed. The fat man
showed me to my room upstairs about up. M., and
I was soon stretched out between white sheets, dreaming
of my coming trip to Vancouver Island, British Columbia.
The next day Mr. "Huze" and I rode over the ranch,
and I expressed great delight in everything and de
clared that I would purchase the place providing my
brother liked it; that we were going into partnership
in the stock business, hence I would have to wait a few
weeks for this brother to join me.
A week was spent at Gazelle and Montague, and I
made the acquaintance of Mrs. Geo. H.'s parents. They
were nice folks and had one son who has attained dis
tinction in South Africa as a mining engineer.
A few days before Christmas, "Huze" and I took a
trip to San Francisco, and I have never seen him since
we separated in that city.
284 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Finally I took passage for Seattle, Washington, by rail,
thence by steamer to Victoria, British Columbia. In
Victoria I took passage on a dumpy little steamer which
was loaded to the guards, for Alberni. On the ocean
along the southern border of Vancouver Island, we ex
perienced rough seas and squally weather. About half
of the time the little steamer was almost standing on end,
and I expected to see her turn upside down any moment.
Seasick, did you whisper? Well, I reckon yes! The
few hours sail up the Alberni canal was delightful, after
the rough ocean trip.
There was a "white folks' " hotel in the Indian village
of Alberni, and my headquarters were established in it.
There were only two star boarders at the hotel until my
arrival, then there were three of us who could order eggs
for breakfast without danger of raising the roof from
the house. One of the star boarders was Judge Keenie,
and the other his "niece;" "quien sabe," as a Mexican
would say, for who knows.
The Judge was a tall, preacher-looking old gentleman,
and evidently he was a fine man. I used him for a cat's
paw to pull my chestnuts out of the fire. I soon learned
that he was a particular friend of Geo. H., who was
operating a mine about twenty miles from Alberni.
Judge Keenie had practiced law for years in Socorro,
New Mexico, hence he and I found much to talk about,
as I knew many of his friends and a few of his enemies.
Finally Judge Keenie took me on a visit to Geo. H.
and his family. They had a nice home near the mine,
in which quite a force of men worked, and the mine
which Geo. H. had bought, no doubt with the money
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 285
secured from our clients, had the ear-marks of being a
good one. Some ore was being shipped every week or
two on a steamer to the smelter in Tacoma, Washington.
Several visits were made to the Geo. H. mine during
the next few weeks. Finally he and his family moved
to Victoria and put up at a swell hotel there. Of course,
I followed suit and made my home in Victoria also. I
had never told of my visit to their old home in Siskiyou
County, California. In fact, I wasn't supposed to be the
same man who met "Huze," as I had adopted a new
name.
Valuable real estate belonging to Geo. H. in California
was located, and with the valuable mine on Vancouver
Island, our clients felt safe, so far as getting their
money back when the time came for bringing suit, and
until that time Geo. H. would be kept track of by our
Agency, who have "correspondents" in all cities and
towns where they have no regular offices.
Finally, towards Spring, I returned to Denver and its
glorious sunshine. During my stay on Vancouver Is
land, I saw the sun only a few times. But while Denver
beats on sunshine, Victoria holds the winning hand on
lack of graft and political corruption, and for just laws,
rightfully administered.
I never heard how Geo. H. came out in his war with
our clients.
My next important out-of-the-city operation was an
ore-stealing case.
One morning Supt. McCartney called me into his
private office and told me that he had a hard nut for
me to crack, and that he would depend on me crack-
286 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ing it, although one of his good operatives had already
failed.
A Mr. R. B. Bursell had become tired of paying our
regular rates of $8 per day and all expenses for the
services of an operative, with no chance of success. Hence
he wrote to Supt. McCartney advising that the operation
be called off. But Mr. McCartney asked for a chance
to try yours truly for a week or two.
With old clothes on, I landed in Victor, one of the big
towns in the Cripple Creek mining district, and in just
one week I had secured a confession from Geo. Shaul
and Young Wilson, as to how they stole Mr. Bursell's
$2,000 worth of rich ore which was in sacks ready for
shipment.
Geo. Shaul was an expert safe blower and bad man
generally. He was known to be one of the worst ore
thieves in the Cripple Creek district, but he was too slick
to get caught.
In order to make myself solid with Shaul and Wilson
and their associates, I "shot up" the town of Victor
one night. I supposed that I had made my "getaway,"
but towards morning my castle was stormed by the got-
rich-quick Mayor, Millionaire Jimmie Doyle, and his
mob of policemen. My door was broken down and I
landed in jail.
Before arresting Shaul and Wilson, the Sheriff of
El Paso County, "Win" Boynton, secured permission
from my Supt. J. S. Kaiser, and Gen. Supt. McCartney,
to let me unearth a murder case in Goldfield, wherein
a saloon proprietor and one of his guests were shot
down in cold blood one night in an attempt to rob the
place.
287
I put in a month on this murder case, and associated
with Shaul and his gang of cut-throats constantly.
A few days before I was ready to close the operation,
a blackmailing detective by the name of Hawkins gave
me away to the gang, on the sly. He and I had done
some work for Attorney Goudy, of Colorado Springs,
several years before. He had recognized me.
"Baldy Bob" and his gang had a plan laid to murder
me and throw my body into an old abandoned shaft;
but Nelly Taylor, a tough dance hall "girl," put me on
my guard, as she couldn't believe me low down enough
to be a detective. Thus my "bacon" was saved by a
scratch.
At the trials in Colorado Springs, with me as the star
witness, Geo. Shaul and Wilson received a sentence to
the penitentiary of six years each for stealing the Rus
sell ore, and "Baldy Bob" got a life sentence for the
murder of the two men in Goldfield.
After being sentenced, Geo. Shaul jumped out of a
two-story window at the jail and with a broken leg made
his way back to Cripple Creek where two days later he
was found almost at the point of death in an old cabin.
He got well and served his sentence out.
CHAPTER XIII
A LAWSUIT IN BENT COUNTY, COLORADO — A BIG MURDER
CASE IN BENKELMAN, NEBRASKA — ERNEST BUSH
SENT TO THE PENITENTIARY FOR LIFE.
Soon after arriving back in Denver I was detailed on
a coal case to be tried in Las Animas, Colorado. Our
clients were the Colorado Matte and Ore Co., and my
work was against the Victor Fuel Co.
I was especially instructed to get in solid with the
sheriff of the county, Las Animas being the county seat.
This I did in fine shape, through playing myself off as a
Texas cattleman who had a herd of steers on the trail
for Las Animas.
The case had been fought in this and other counties
of the state before, and the population were more or less
divided as to which company was right and which was
wrong.
Mr. Delos A. Chapelle, the president of the Victor
Company, was a popular man and had many friends
among the ranchers.
Judge Beaton, a noted fisherman, was the leading
attorney on our side, and he and Mr. Keeble, President
of the Colorado Matte Company where the only ones sup
posed to know me. But towards the last I heard that
the secret had been given away to District Attorney
Ross of Trinidad, Colorado, and other friends of our
side.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 289
In this way the Sheriff no doubt found out who I
was, though he never said anything about the way I
had played him, except to give me a hint, and to give
me a wide berth.
One day he met me coming from an artesian well with
a small tin-bucketful of water, when he said: "Say,
Mr. Le Roy, is that water for your herd of cattle?"
With a smile I answered "Yes," and he passed on. I
knew then that he was "onto" me, but my work was
already finished. He was a nice fellow just the same,
even though he did feel a little "sore" towards me.
My next was a complicated murder case in Benkelman,
Nebraska. The county attorney Mr. Goodehart, in that
sleepy little county-seat town, wanted a good detective,
as none other could make a success the way matters
stood. Gen. Supt. McCartney informed him that he had
a cowboy detective who would succeed if any one could.
Therefore I was detailed on the case.
Arriving in Benkelman, Nebraska, in cowboy attire, I
met Prosecuting Attorney Goodehart and County Com
missioner, L. Morse, at night in a secluded place. They
explained the case of how Ernest Bush, a nineteen year
old boy had come into their county that Spring, broke,
and asked to work for his board at County Commis
sioner Morse's ranch, a few miles out of Benkelman,
which request was granted.
Mr. Morse "batched" at his ranch, and had working
for him an old Grand Army man by the name of Baily.
This honest old soldier who had fought for his country
took a deep interest in the poor homeless "kid," and let
him sleep with him in his bed.
19
290 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
A few days later Mr. Morse drove to town in his
buggy, giving Mr. Baily orders to fix a hay rack that
morning. On returning in the afternoon Mr. Morse
asked Ernest Bush where Mr. Baily was. He replied
that he hadn't seen him since noon. That night Bush
worked hard and fed the stock himself.
As Baily didn't show up by morning the whole coun
try turned out to search for him. The only clue found
that day was the old man's false teeth on the trail lead
ing to the river, about a quarter of a mile distant. They
had been broken and trampled into the mud by the cattle
going to water, where a hole had been cut in the ice for
that purpose.
The next day Mr. Baily's body was found lodged in
a fallen tree a few miles down the river. It was found
through the ice having melted and exposing one gloved
hand protruding above the water. In the top of
the head were several buckshot wounds. This indicated
to the angry men that Baily had been cleaning the stable
when shot from the loft window above. Mr. Morse had
a shot-gun in the house, but no buckshot cartridges for it.
Bush was arrested as the guilty party, but cool and
unconcerned, he protested his innocence.
Finally Bush had a preliminary trial and the court
room was full of people. When Prosecuting Attorney
Goodehart cross-questioned the poor boy too severely,
some of the audience hissed. They thought it was a
shame for a big prosecuting attorney to impose on a boy
whose face was plastered over with a coating of inno
cence.
Bush's parents in Council Bluffs, Iowa, had sent an
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 291
attorney from Omaha, and also hired a local lawyer to
defend him.
When the Judge dismissed the case and freed Bush
for want of evidence, some of the ladies in the Court
room threw their arms around the boy's neck and kissed
him.
Of course this hurt the Prosecuting Attorney's feel
ings and then he was determined to prove the truth
with the help of the Dickenson Agency and the County
Commissioners to back him up with funds, for it takes
cash to employ the big Agency, as they never work for
rewards. They must have a good guarantee to insure
their pay of $8 per diem and all necessary expenses.
They rightly contend that a detective working for a re
ward will often stretch the truth in order to convict,
whereas, with the per diem plan, there is no incentive
for an operative to perjure himself.
After the trial Bush's local attorney took charge of
him and cautioned him against talking to strangers or
picking up with any one, as detectives were liable to be
put on his trail to get a confession. His attorneys also
advised that he not leave the country, as that would look
as though he was trying to run away. He was also told
to keep in touch with his Benkelman attorney. Our
clients had found out the above through a friend of the
boy's. Therefore I was told that my work would have
to be pretty slick in order to make friends with the boy,
as being a stranger he would naturally be suspicious of
me, and if he were not, his lawyer would be.
The lawyer had got the boy a job with a Mr. Scott
across the river, two miles distant.
293 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
To make a long story short, I won the boy's friend
ship in a hurry, and persuaded him to run away with me
and not even let his lawyer know what had become of
him.
About a week after my arrival in Benkelman, Bush and
I were on the way to New Mexico.
In riding through town on our horses on the morning
of our departure, a fat boarder at the hotel, who no doubt
had a large criminal bump in his makeup, called the boy
off to one side and told him that I might be a detective
trying to get a confession out of him. I was told this
after we got out of town.
I had played myself off as an ex-outlaw and chum of
the noted train robber and desperado, "Black Jack,"
who, at the time was in his glory, though a year or two
later he was hung, at which time the rope pulled his
head off. I had told of owning a ranch in New Mexico
at Santa Fe, and of having quit the outlaw business. But
I had promised to get him into "Black Jack's" gang.
On this operation I used my own name.
On arriving in New Mexico I kept Bush hid out at my
ranch near Santa Fe, by telling him that as he was going
to become a member of "Black Jack's" gang it was best
that no one in Santa Fe make his acquaintance, or see
him with me ; and furthermore, that it would be best for
him to lay low for fear the Nebraska officials should try
to locate him.
I had an old man by the name of Atwood working on
my ranch and taking care of my pets, and of course I
posted him to not tell anyone that the boy was there.
Bush and I made several trips out into the moun-
'A COWBOY DETECTIVE 293
tains on my pet horses, and on two occasions it was all
I could do to prevent him from murdering poor Mexi
cans for what money they might have. He would beg
me to ride on and let him do the job alone ; that he would
hide the body and overtake me. He had bought a pistol
and was anxious to try it on a man, but I argued that
it wouldn't do for me to allow a murder committed so
near my home. I told him that he would get his fill of
murdering when he got in with the "Black Jack" gang.
I had told Bush that one of "Black Jack's" main
chums was now at Bland, New Mexico, in the Cochiti
mining district, and that I would have him come and
meet him (Bush). Therefore, I wrote to my friend
"Cunny," the Texan whom I followed in the Bill Blank
case, and who had worked on my ranch about two years.
"Cunny" was then mining in the Cochiti district. I
wrote him that I would want him to visit me on the
ranch soon, and I wrote a letter for him to copy and
mail to me in Santa Fe. In this fake letter, he agreed
to take my "kid" friend with him when they started on
their next big raid. Of course Bush read this letter, and
after that he kept me busy buying pistol cartridges so
that he could practice shooting. He was then a happy
boy.
One day a gentleman named Goeble, said to be a
brother to the murdered Governor Goeble of Kentucky,
who was a guest at Attorney Thomas B. Catron's resi
dence in Santa Fe, rode out in a buggy to see our fine
poultry. Bush thought he might be an officer from
Nebraska after him, so he loaded my double-barrel shot
gun with buckshot cartridges, and set it in the bedroom
294 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
clothes closet, to be used in 'case of an emergency. When
the visitor drove up to the gate and alighted, I raised the
trap cellar door in the kitchen and advised Bush to hide
there until the fellow left. He did as directed. I then
went out into the yard to talk with the man, and while
we were standing talking, a large hawk began to soar
overhead. I ran in to get the shotgun, but found the
closet locked from the inside. I began pushing to force
the door open, when Bush said: "If you push open this
door I'll let you have both barrels of this gun. What in
the h 1 do you want?"
I explained that it was me, and I wanted the gun to
shoot a hawk. When he opened the door he had both
barrels of the gun cocked and pointed towards me. He
said he thought I was the other man. He hated to give
up the gun though, for fear I was putting up a job to
capture him. But I laughed at him for losing confidence
in me so easily. On reaching the back yard the hawk
was gone and I returned the gun to Bush. This cheered
him up and he begged my pardon for doubting me.
Soon after this my friends, Mr. Alois B. Renehan, one
of the prominent attorneys of Santa Fe, and his pretty
young wife, came out to the ranch to visit me, and I
wanted Bush to meet them, but he wouldn't hear to it,
though they got to see him from a distance, while he
was skulking in a hollow amidst the growing corn and
sorghum.
Bush and I slept together in a separate room from Mr.
Atwood, and one night, after the boy had gone to sleep,
he began dreaming and talking to himself. He finally
climbed upon me with both knees on my stomach, and
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 295
both hands clutched about my throat. He was strong for
his age, and to prevent him from cutting off my wind, I
ran the fingers of one of my hands along my neck under
his hands. Then I waited patiently for developments.
Soon he released the hold about my neck, and looking
and pointing up to the ceiling said : "Oh look, look, see
him, he's got wings !" Then he collapsed and fell over on
his side, asleep.
Next morning I told him of what he had said in his
sleep and asked what he meant by it. He laughed and
said : "Why, I was dreaming about that old Baily,
who is now pushing clouds in hell. I could see him
just as plain, and he had wings too !"
Here I got a full confession of how he murdered poor
old Baily, which was as follows:
After Mr. Morse had driven away from the ranch,
Baily began working on a hay rack out in the cattle yard.
Then Bush made preparations to carry out his plan to
murder the old man for his money. He had noticed that
the old soldier carried a large fat pocketbook in his vest
pocket. He had loaded a shell with buckshot for the
purpose. While Baily was working on the hay rack Bush
got Mr. Morse's shotgun and placed the buckshot shell
in one barrel, — the other barrel already contained a
shell, loaded with birdshot. Bush then crawled into the
hogpen and stuck the gun through a hole in the fence.
Baily was facing him, but had his face turned down, as
he was sawing a two-by-four inch scantling, which
caused the top of his head to be pointed towards the con
cealed gun.
The distance was about thirty yards, more or less.
296 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Both barrels of the gun were fired at the same time.
Baily gave a scream and fell over. Then Bush ran to
the house and got two cartridges loaded with birdshot.
These he put in the gun and then ran to where Baily lay
struggling with death. He asked the old man if he was
much hurt, intending to fire both charges into him, in
case he had life enough to answer. But he only groaned
a few times and was dead. Then Bush went through
his pockets and found a few five and ten dollar bills and
a little silver. The fat pocketbook contained nothing but
mortgages and pension papers. Then the young
murderer put a harness onto his own horse in the stable
and tied the tugs together behind the animal. Then one
end of a rope was tied to the tugs, while the other
end was fastened to the old man's neck. Now the horse
was mounted, so as to drag the body to the river, but
the horse became frightened and bucked all over the
corral, dragging the corpse behind his heels. Finally he
ran out of the open gate and Bush headed him towards
the river, a quarter of a mile distant, over the cattle trail
made in the deep snow. At the river the body was
thrown into the hole, cut in the ice where the cattle
watered. It drifted with the current under the ice and
was soon lost to view.
In going back over the trail the boy picked up one of
Baily's mittens. This he burned in the stove.
Then the cattle were rounded up and put in the corral
and driven to water over the trail, so as to obliterate all
signs of the body dragging in the snow.
After the horse was put up, Bush put away the saw,
which he had had great difficulty in getting out of the
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 297
corpse's hand, and he hid the scantling which was partly
sawed in two. Then he found some buckshot and bird-
shot holes in a post which stood directly behind Baily, in
line. These shot had missed the old man's head. With
his knife he made the buckshot holes look like spike holes,
and the marks of the small shot were scratched and ob
literated.
The money he hid by burying it at the foot of a tele
graph pole in the pasture. Later its hiding place was
changed to the lining of his clothing, where a few bills
still remained. These he ripped out and gave to me, so
that they could be spent in the natural course of business.
He said I could just give him credit for the amount and
pay him back later.
While I was in the kitchen getting breakfast and Mr.
Atwood was out milking the Jersey cows and feeding
the stock, Bush imitated to me how the murder was com
mitted. He got the shotgun and had me put a stick on a
chair, then put my knee on it and use the fire poker for a
saw. Of course I made sure the gun was empty. When
he pulled the trigger I gave a scream and fell over on
the floor groaning. Soon he stood over me and asked
if I was hurt much. A few more groans and kicks and I
was dead. He said my part was played to perfection.
Then we both laughed and I complimented him on his
courage and said he was made out of the proper stuff for
a member of the "Black Jack" gang.
He then told of how slick he played County Attorney
Goodehart, and of how nice it was to have the ladies
kiss and caress him in the court room.
During the next few days Bush told me of all the
298 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
crimes committed by him. They were many, and some
of them heartless. His first crime was stealing a lot of
money from his own mother, and the next was earning
$50 from his uncle for setting fire to the uncle's resi
dence, while the family were absent on a visit. The uncle
got the $3,000.00 of insurance money and afterwards be
came well-to-do.
One of his crimes was, where he and two men in
northern Nebraska, made a raise of a lot of money, then
went out into the woods and played cards to see who
should have it all. One of the men won the "boodle."
Then Bush and the other loser put up a job and killed
the lucky player and buried his body where it no doubt
remains to this day.
In the course of a week after confessing to me, I
noticed for several days that Bush was sullen and seemed
to be brooding over something. Finally one evening,
when I returned from town, where I had gone to get
meat for supper and to write a report, Bush was in a
good humor. He showed me a key which he had made
to unlock my valise. It was a good piece of work. He
then confessed going into my valise and reading the let
ters, etc, therein. I had put these letters into the valise for
just such an emergency. I asked why he wanted to read
my letters. He said : "Now Charlie, I'm going to confess
to you that I have been worrying for several days, be
cause I told you that I killed old Baily. I was afraid
you might be a d — d detective, so today I made a key to
fit your valise, for I thought if you were a detective you
would have something in there that would give you away.
If I had found anything that looked suspicious, I was
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 299
going to kill you to-night and then get on Lula and hit
the road. I might have killed old Atwood too, but I
had it all fixed how you were to be killed so as not to
wake up Atwood."
I asked if he had intended to kill me quick so I
wouldn't suffer. He replied: "Yes, I had a hatchet
sharpened for the purpose."
Then he went and pulled a sharp hatchet from its hid
ing place and showed me just where he had intended to
split my head open, as I slept. He said he was going
to play he was asleep until he knew for sure that I was
not awake.
I asked if he was out of the notion of carrying out
his plan; if not, I wouldn't let him sleep with me any
more. He replied : "Oh you needn't be afraid of me now,
Charlie, for I have made up my mind that you are all
right. What convinced me the most after I got to think
ing the matter over was the way you always leave your
pistol where I could get hold of it. Often when you and
I were here alone you would walk down to the well, or
to the garden, and leave the pistol lying on the table or
bed. I concluded a detective wouldn't do that."
From now on, I carried out the Dickenson Agency
motto: "We never sleep." Previous to this I had been
sleeping with part of one eye open, figuratively speaking.
As I wanted a witness to the boy's confession, I
wrote to my friend "Cunny" in Bland, to come over at
once.
When "Cunny" arrived Bush was happy, as I had told
him that "Black Jack's" chum was coming and I advised
300 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
him to try to make a good impression on him, so that he
could go on their proposed raid.
I went to town and left "Cunny" and Bush together
the first day. "Cunny" put in his time "loading" the
"kid" with the bloody deeds of "Black Jack" and his
gang, and of the money they made.
On my return I found Bush happy and in love with
"Cunny." I asked if he had told "Cunny" of how he
had made his killings. He said no, and asked me to tell
him about it as it would look too much like bragging for
him to tell it. I agreed to start the subject and then he
could go on and finish it. So after supper I got the boy
started and he repeated the whole story of Baily's
murder, and next morning while Atwood was doing the
outside work, I had Bush get the shotgun and show
"Cunny" how it had been done. I played Baily by saw
ing the scantling with the poker.
As this was all the evidence needed, I put up a scheme
to get Bush to Denver before making the arrest. I had
a letter come from our office in Denver purporting to
come from a Wyoming horseman who had arrived in
that city with some cheap horses. In the letter a price
was given on fifty head, with a promise that he would
hold them until I could get there. Of course this letter
was shown to "Cunny" and Bush, and "Cunny" told
Bush that he would have plenty of time to help me drive
the horses to Santa Fe as the "Black Jack" raid would
not start for a month yet.
Therefore, next day Bush and I got ready to start on
the A. T. & S. F. train at n o'clock in the night. I sug
gested to Bush that he and I walk from the ranch to the
'A COWBOY DETECTIVE 301
depot, which was about two miles, so as to save hitching
up a team so late in the night. "Cunny" sat up with us
until we started at 9 130 p. M.
The night was dark and on going half a mile Bush
balked and wouldn't budge another step. Said he :
"Charlie, d — d if I feel right. I am not going any fur
ther."
I laughed and told him to come on, that he must be
crazy. He continued : "I've got a hunch that you are a
detective and have got officers hid between here and the
depot to arrest me. Now I want to tell you one thing, if
YOU do turn out to be a detective and I have to go to the
'pen/ you can figure that your life will end just as soon
as I get out. If I go up for five years or ten years, you
can figure on living just that long and no longer."
I laughed and told him that I would want to die if I
was low down enough to be a detective. I assured him
that there were no officers hid in the arroyos between
there and town. Then he said: "All right, we will see.
You take the lead and I'll walk behind you with my pistol
cocked ready to shoot. Then if any one shows up on the
trail I will empty my pistol into you." I told him to
go behind and if he saw any suspicious men to cut loose
at me, but to make a death shot so that I wouldn't suffer.
He then got out his pistol and carried it in his hand. He
walked about twenty feet behind me.
After going half a mile he stepped up to my side and
slapped me on the shoulder saying: "I reckon you are
all right, Charlie. If you were a detective you wouldn't
take such chances of being shot by me. I could have
killed you and got your money, then slipped back to the
ranch and got on Lula and hit the trail for Mexico."
302 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
He put up the pistol and we walked side by side the
balance of the way to the depot. There we boarded the
train.
At Lamy, the junction of the main line, I telegraphed
to my horse man in Denver, stating at what time we
would arrive there. We arrived in Denver during the
afternoon and went to a restaurant to eat a square meal.
Just then a couple of our men and a city officer came and
arrested Bush. I protested and they threatened to arrest
me if I didn't keep quiet.
Bush was taken to a room in the St. James Hotel,
where County Attorney Goodeheart and one of the County
Commissioners from Benkelman, Nebraska, were wait
ing. In about half an hour I went to the St. James to
see if I couldn't go on Bush's bond till morning.
Bush hated for me to leave when I bade him goodby.
He didn't seem to suspect me of having a hand in his
arrest.
Next day he was taken back to Benkelman and a sur
prise sprung on his lawyer, who never knew what had
become of the "kid."
Shortly after, I had "Cunny" meet me in Denver and
we went together to Benkelman, Nebraska, to appear
against Bush in the District Court, which was in session
there. Bush's same two lawyers were on hand to defend
him, and a noted criminal lawyer from Lincoln, the Cap
ital of the State, was there to assist Mr. Goodeheart in
the prosecution. He was a large man with a very large
bump of self-importance sticking out of his head. But
he made the mistake of bumping up against my stubborn
bump. He tried to force me to be drilled as to my testi-
303
mony. He said he had had lots of experience with rail
road detectives and they generally made a bad impres
sion on the jury, so for that reason, he wanted to put me
through a drill. When he demanded it, then my stubborn
bump got to working and I read the riot act to him. I
informed him that I was going to tell the truth, and that
truth needed no drilling, and that I held the winning hand
in this game, hence he couldn't make me do anything.
His dignity then got down off its high horse and col
lapsed.
The scantling which was sawed partly in two was
found where the boy said it was, and the buckshot and
small shot were cut out of the post.
After I had testified the Lincoln lawyer was so pleased
that he advised against putting "Cunny" on the stand for
fear of weakening my evidence. Therefore "Cunny" was
not used.
Of course Bush's attorneys gave me an awful "roast
ing."
The court house was packed with people from the
whole county. The jury were out a short time and
brought in a verdict of murder in the first degree. There
was no kissing in the courtroom this time. Bush looked
daggers at me. He received a life sentence in the peni
tentiary, and it was sustained by the State Supreme
Court.
Naturally I was quite a hero in the little town of Ben-
kelman, and had many invitations out to dine.
I had hard work pulling "Cunny" away from a pretty
little corn-fed girl who was waiting on our table at the
hotel.
304 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
The chances are that Ernest Bush will be pardoned
out of the penitentiary before he is an old man. Then
he will choose a wife from his own class and go to breed
ing degenerate criminals like himself. Thus the devil
work will go on while society sleeps.
Oh, what fools we mortals are to allow it
CHAPTER XIV
ON TRAIL OF UNION PACIFIC TRAIN ROBBERS THROUGH
UTAH, COLORADO, NEW MEXICO, KANSAS, INDIAN
TERRITORY, ARKANSAS, TENNESSEE, MISSISSIPPI,
MONTANA AND THE REPUBLIC OF MEXICO.
After the Bush operation, I was detailed on several
small cases in near-by towns, and also did some city
work in Denver.
Finally I was put to work for the Colorado Matte &
Ore Co. on a long operation to find out the feeling of
their coal miners. This was not pleasant work, as my
associates were coal miners of every nationality.
I started in at Trinidad, Colorado, and worked all the
coal towns tributary to that city. Then I changed to
Florence, and worked the coal camps around there.
Finally, during the early summer, I was detailed with
my friend W. O. Sayles, who had just returned from
South Africa, to go on trail of train robbers for the
Union Pacific Railroad Company. One of their passen
ger trains had been held up at Wilcox, Wyoming, and
a large amount of unsigned money stolen, and in a fight
which followed, Sheriff Hazen was killed by the robbers.
From the best information obtainable, the Hole-in-the-
wall gang had committed the robbery.
In Denver, Sayles and I bought a "30-40" smokeless
powder Winchester rifle each, also blankets and camp
outfit. Supt John S. Kaiser instructed us to go to Salt
20 305
I
306 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Lake City, Utah, and there buy horses and saddles and
ride into Brown's Park, Colorado, just over the line of
Utah which is a haven for criminals. In Wyoming some
of the robbers had been seen driving a bunch of horses
south, headed for Brown's Park. These were the par
ticular men we were going after, but anyone who looked
suspicious of ever having robbed a train, was to be
"spotted."
A 500 mile ride over the continental range of moun
tains on the D. & R. G. Ry. brought us to the Mormon
Capital. The first thing we did was to hunt up our friend
"Doc" Shores, special agent of the Rio Grande Western
Ry., and tell him of our proposed man hunt, for he was
in a position to help us.
Sayers and I then bought a good saddle horse apiece,
and a pack animal, also saddles, grub, etc., and a good
supply of rifle and pistol cartridges.
Just as we were ready to start "Doc" Shores received
a letter from one of his confidential men in Hanksville,
Utah, stating that two men supposed to be Union Pacific
train robbers had just passed there going south; that
they were driving thirteen head of good horses. Shores
let us read the letter and we felt confident these were the
men we were after, as they had the same number of
horses as seen in Wyoming.
We arranged with Mr. Shores to furnish us a stock-
car on the narrow gauge D. & R. G. Ry. so that we
could ship our horses and outfit to Marys vale, Utah, and
from there we could make a fast ride and reach Dandy
Crossing on the Colorado river about the same time as
the robbers. The letter had stated that they were headed
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 307
for the Dandy Crossing ferry. We telegraphed in cipher
the contents of the letter and our intentions to Supt.
Kaiser, and asked for his advice. Soon we got an answer
to follow our first instructions, which meant to "hit the
trail" for Brown's Park.
We selected our route through Emigration Canyon to
Park City, a large mining camp, thence 'to Heber and
east over the range of mountains to the head of Straw
berry Creek on the Duchesne Indian Reservation and
down that stream to the Duchesne river. On Strawberry
Creek we had good fishing, although Sayles didn't enjoy
the sport on account of the mosquitoes. They had his
face and hands chewed to pieces. His face was swollen
so badly that he looked like a breweryman. I was too
tough for common mosquitoes, as I had been hardened
with Texas gallinippers chewing on me from the cradle
to early manhood. A gallinipper is larger than two
northern mosquitoes.
On arriving at Ft. Duchesne, a U. S. Military post on
the Indian Reservation, after a five days' hard ride, we
found a telegraph message from Supt. Kaiser in Denver,
stating that the two men and thirteen loose horses seen
in Hanksville en route to Dandy Crossing were undoubt
edly the train robbers that we were after, and for us to
give up the Brown's Park trip and turn south on trail of
these men.
It was evident that someone had made a blunder by
not letting us ship our stock to Marysvale and thereby
reach Dandy Crossing the same time as the robbers, if
not before, and also have saved us a tiresome 500 mile
horseback ride. We were not mad but the cuss-words
308 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
hurled over towards Denver left a sulphuric taste in our
mouths for a week.
From Ft. Duchesne we headed south for Price, Utah,
on the Rio Grande Western Ry. En route to Price I
learned from a rancher that my Wyoming friend Tom
Hall, who had so kindly prevented a rope being placed
about my neck, and who made the crutches for me to
walk with, now lived in Price and ran a saloon there,
although he was now going by his right name, Tom
Nichols, the old murder charge in Texas having been
canceled.
Not knowing that I was acquainted with Tom Hall,
this rancher gave me his history. He told me of how he
and his two brothers "Mid" and George Nichols, had
conducted a saloon at "Hogtown" on the edge of Ft.
Duchesne, and of how George had killed a man and
skipped out to wear the brand of an outlaw.
A ride of three days brought us to Price early one
afternoon. My first desire was to get a good look at Tom
Hall, to see if he had changed from of old. I didn't dare
enter his saloon for fear of being recognized by him, in
which case my work might be spoiled by our indentity be
ing made public. Furthermore, I didn't know but that
our meeting might end in a fight, for the chances were a
bitter feeling aginst me existed on his part, and in that
Case he wouldn't hesitate to use his gun.
When directly opposite the Nichols saloon, Tom
walked out in his shirt sleeves and seated himself in a
chair facing me. He was the same Tom, tall and good
looking, but a little older and fleshier.
I stepped into the newspaper office at my back and
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 309
asked for some exchange papers to read. These were
furnished and I sat looking out through the glass-front
at Hall, and wondered what his life had been since we
held the Irish wake over the corpse of poor Mrs. Howard.
The next morning Sayles and I pulled out for the
south in a driving rainstorm, which had been falling since
midnight. About five miles out we came to a raging
creek which couldn't be crossed without danger to our
selves and horses. Therefore we started back to Price
only to find ourselves cut off from that place by an
other swift creek which had risen over its banks in the
past half hour. There was nothing for us to do but wait
in the rain for this creek to go down. This it did towards
night. On arriving back in Price, we put up at the same
hotel where we had stopped the night before, and while
in our room upstairs, a knock came at the door, which
was opened and the visitor invited to enter. He intro
duced himself as the editor of the local paper, and ex
plained to us that we were virtually under arrest as
Union Pacific train robbers ; that he had been sent up by
the sheriff of the county to advise us to surrender peace
fully. Of course we laughed and told him that we were
prospectors on the way to the Henry mountains south
of Hanksville. The editor then told us that the sheriff
and a posse with Winchester rifles had the hotel sur
rounded, and to verify his assertion we were told to look
out of the window. This we did, and saw men with rifles.
The editor told of how the sheriff had been fixing to go
on our trail, when we rode back into town.
We gave a history of how we had outfitted in Salt
Lake for a prospecting trip and that we had pick and
310 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
shovel, gold pan and other prospecting tools in our pack.
He said there was no doubt in his mind but that we were
all right, and he would so report to the sheriff. Thus the
matter ended, and the "dogs of war" were called off.
The next morning when ready to make another start
a photographer took our pictures.
For the next three or four days we had a wet ride,
swimming creeks and traveling in sticky mud up to our
horses' knees at times. We went through several Mor
mon towns to Emery, thence over a desert to Dirty-devil
Creek, and up that stream to Hanksville, where the two
supposed train robbers had been seen.
In Hanksville we made the acquaintance of Charlie
Gibbons who ran the only hotel and store in the place.
In a general talk with him and his brother and other
men, we found out that two suspicious characters with
thirteen head of horses had crossed the Colorado river at
Dandy Crossing about ten days previous, and that nearly
a week later, a third man with five head of horses
crossed. He made inquiry for the first two men. Charlie
Gibbons' brother helped this last man swim his horses
across the river, and from the description given us he
was evidently the notorious "Kid" Curry. He told Gib
bons and Johnny Hite, who had charge of the ferry, that
he would go where the grass was good and camp until
he heard from his friends.
After Sayles and I crossed the river, we trailed this
man up White's Canyon. We found where he took his
horses up a rocky bluff several hundred feet high, which
looked like an impossible feat. By this time it was late
in the evening so that one of us had to return to Dandy
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A COWBOY DETECTIVE 311
Crossing after some grain for our horses. It was agreed
that Sayles go back and follow till dark. It was all I
could do to get my horse up the steep bluff.
When on top of the mesa the country was level. I
followed the trail to a wide rocky arroyo where all traces
of the horses' tracks were lost. They had evidently gone
down this rocky canyon. I searched the canyon for two
miles down and then gave up the chase to get back to
camp before it became too dark to see my way down that
steep bluff.
A year later I found out through Mr. John Duckett,
of Bluff City, Utah, that I was within half a mile of this
lone outlaw's camp when I turned back. Duckett was
working a mining prospect across White's Canyon and
could see every move made. Duckett said the fellow
camped there two weeks. They were only a couple of
miles apart, but couldn't visit each other without travel
ing ten to twenty miles, owing to bluffs and canyons. So,
the chances are I came very near running into my game.
In that case there would have been "something doing."
And it is possible that this outlaw saw me trailing him.
In that event he would have had the best of the fight.
All is well that ends well.
Owing to the fact of my losing the trail of the lone
outlaw on the rock-bottom bed of the canyon, Sayers
and I concluded to follow the tracks of the two men and
their thirteen head of loose horses. The tracks still
showed plainly in the valley of White's Canyon, as there
was no travel to speak of in that country.
To recite our ups and downs in finding water and keep
ing the dim trail and of having our pack horse killed by
312 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
a rattlesnake bite, would require too much space. Suffice
it to say that we reached Bluff City, a little Mormon
settlement on the San Juan river, in good health, the dis
tance being about 120 miles with not a habitation on the
route.
In Bluff City we learned of the two U. P. robbers
being there two weeks ahead of us; also two of our
operatives. Alvin Carman and Alvin Darkbird. had
arrived a couple of days ahead of us and had taken up
the trail of the robbers who were headed east.
By this time we knew they were Union Pacific train
robbers, as they had passed some of the unsigned bills
stolen in the Silcox, Wyoming, train holdup. They had
passed one $20.00 bill with a merchant in Thompson's
Falls and another with Charlie Gibbons of Hanksville.
Darkbird and Carman had been sent by Supt. Kaiser
to Flagstaff, Arizona, there to buy outfits and cut across
the country to Bluff City, Utah, so as to assist Sayles
and me, or to intercept the robbers in case they headed
south for Arizona.
Sayles and I figured that we were born leaders of men,
hence we didn't like the idea of bringing up the rear,
three days behind the other two operatives. Therefore,
in Mancos, Colorado, on the Denver & Rio Grande rail
road we put our jaded horses in a pasture and stored
our camp outfit, taking our saddles along with us, and
boarded a train for Durango. Here we overtook Carman
and his chum. From Durango, Sayles and I led the
chase by riding on trains, in buggies, and on hired saddle
horses. We left the other two boys far in the rear, and
they finally lost the trail entirely and returned to Denver.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 313
In Lumberton, New Mexico, my friend J. M. Archu-
leta, who was one of my chums in the Archuleta, Col
orado, uprising, had seen the two robbers and the thirteen
head of horses, two of them being very noticeable, one
being a pretty cream color and the other a large dapple
iron gray. After leaving Lumberton we lost the trail,
but we heard of two men and a bunch of horses headed
south towards Bland, New Mexico. It was agreed that
I follow this clue, while Sayles searched the country
around Pagosa Springs, Colorado.
By riding on a Denver & Rio Grande train about 500
miles, I landed in Santa Fe, New Mexico. There I
went out to my ranch and saddled up Glen Alpine, Jr.
He was fat and bucked like a wolf.
A forty mile ride brought me to Bland in the Cochiti
mining district, where lived my friend "Cunny." He
had seen the two men and bunch of horses, and they
proved not to be the robbers.
While I was riding in the heavy timber on the head of
Peralta Canyon, I ran onto a sister of the Polk brothers.
She was alone in a new cabin just built, and recognized
"Glen" before she did me. We had both put up at their
place in the Wichita mountains, Indian Territory, when
on the Bill Blank operation. They had lately moved out
into this wild country. No doubt the lady thought "Glen"
and I were inseparable, and that I had been riding him
ever since she last saw us. I was in a great hurry and
couldn't give an account of myself.
On returning to Santa Fe, I received a telegram from
Sayles, saying that he had found the right trail, going
through Pagosa Springs, and over Mosca Pass into the
314 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Wet Mountain Valley. Shortly after rejoining Sayles
south of Canyon City, Colorado, we lost the trail again.
He then went to Cripple Creek on a false scent, while
I went east and picked up the trail by tramping
afoot ten miles from a little railroad station where there
was no horse to be hired. In Cucharas Junction the trail
crossed the railroad and headed for Rattlesnake Buttes,
towards the Arkansas river.
Of course I kept the Denver officials of our office
posted by wire.
Sayles was called in and sent to Montana to work on
a clue as to where some of the stolen money which had
been sent to the City of Washington had come from. I
continued to follow the trail down the Arkansas river.
In Lamar, Colorado, I met my friend Newt Parrish
who was in a bank there. He and his lovely wife and
I had become acquainted out in the Wet Mountain
Valley several years previous, when I was chasing a
tough character for Henry Tompkins, the hardware
merchant prince of Colorado. I had spent two months
on that operation playing outlaw, cowboy, and miner,
but I overlooked giving an acount of it in the proper
place herein.
Finally I landed in Dodge City, Kansas, and found
that my men and horses had passed through there on
their way down the Arkansas river; but I concluded to
lay over a half day and note the changes in this the
toughest of all early-day western cattle towns.
In looking over the prosperous town I found many
old landmarks in the way of buildings, etc., but only one
live one, the live one being old "Dog Kelly," the early-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 315
day mayor of Dodge City. He was nicknamed "Dog
Kelly" because in the early days he always had a pack
of greyhounds following at his heels; and the strange
part of this story is that the dogs were still with him,
though not the same dogs, of course.
After Kelly and I had a few drinks we began to "hark
back" to 1877 when my friend Jim Kennedy, son of
the Texas "Cattle-King" shot at the Hon. "Dog Kelly"
and killed his "lady" companion, and how Bat Master-
son and a gang waylaid Jim Kennedy by hiding behind
an old well dump at Mead City and shot him as he
rode by.
This brought to my mind how near I came to being
put out of business by this afterwards noted Bat Master-
son. It happened in July, 1877. Dodge City was then one
year old, and she had a graveyard with 81 men sleeping
their last sleep. One of these had died a natural death
and the other 80 with their boots on, in other words,
were killed. A fine record for a year old town.
I had landed in Dodge City with one of the Little-
field cattle herds from Texas. One night "Wess" Adams,
a cowboy chum, and I rode into town to have a good
time. There were several dance-halls in full swing, but
we settled on the Lone- Star dance hall as the "girls"
there seemed better looking and the name had a Texas
flavor. Bat Masterson was the night bar-keeper.
About 1 1 :oo p. M. "Wess" Adams called me outside
and told me how he had been insulted by a big long
haired buffalo-hunter by the name of Jim White, and he
said this fellow ought to be taught a lesson to show him
that the killers of buffalo are not in the cowboy class.
316 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
He then asked if I would stay with him in a fight. Being
a fool boy, and realizing the disgrace of a cowboy
quitting a chum in time of danger, I told him to go
ahead and start the ball to rolling; that I would stay
with him.
Our horses were taken out of the livery stable and
tied in front of the Lone-Star dance-hall. Of course
we both had on Colts 45 pistols. The hall was filled
with cowboys and buffalo-hunters. When the fight
started, Bat Masterson, who was behind the bar,
gathered a lot of heavy beer glasses together and began
throwing them in the direction of my head. One glanced
from the side of my head and hit the wall nearby. Pieces
of the broken glass struck me in the face, drawing blood.
This was the only blood lost by yours truly. When Bat
had no more glasses to throw, he came running from
behind the bar with an ice mallet. He started in on
a big dutch cowboy who had no hand in the fight, which
was then raging between a dozen cowboys and buffalo-
hunters. It was a shame the way that poor Dutchman
got his face mashed. The blood flew every time Bat
struck with the ice mallet. I was too busy helping my
chum, to go to Dutchy's assistance, though I would
have liked to.
There wasn't a shot fired, but in two instances pistols
were used as clubs to knock men down.
After long-haired Jim White was lying on the floor
apparently dead, with blood flowing from wounds in the
head, and I had seen a buffalo hunter stab my partner
in the back, I dragged "Wess" to the door and out to the
sidewalk where we both mounted our horses. Just as
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 317
we did so, an officer, I think Joe Mason, ran up and
demanded our arrest, but we didn't surrender worth
a cent. We just jumped our horses towards the side
walk and with drawn pistols made the policeman get
back into the little hallway from whence he had come.
We then put spurs to our horses and rode east out of
town on the run, and yelling cowboy fashion. Of course
we were both half drunk on the poisonous liquor passed
over the bar by Bat Masterson, now one of President
Roosevelt's pet revenue officers of New York state.
On reaching the stock yards a mile east of town, we
dismounted and went into the little board shanty to
examine "Wess" Adams' wound. Laying him on his
stomach I pulled his shirts over his shoulders and found
a horrible knife-wound under the right shoulder blade.
The knife had been thrust in and then brought around
in a semi-circle in the shape of a large horseshoe. The
open part of the shoe is where the flesh was not cut,
and the other part of the wound the flesh stood out
several inches from the body. The clothing was satur
ated with blood. Lighted matches had to be used in
order to see. I told Adams that the wound was serious,
and for him to lie there until I could ride back to town
and get some medicine and a needle and thread to sew
up the wound.
Getting on my pet horse, Whisky Pete, I rode fast,
but on nearing town I became "foxy" and thought pos
sibly the officers might be watching for our return, and
this "foxy" part of my makeup saved my bacon. For,
about fifteen years later, Supt. Jas. McCartney, in Den
ver, introduced me to Bat Masterson, and in telling him
318 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
of my part in the fight at the Lone-Star dance-hall, he
told how he and a gang of officers had followed us to
the edge of town and there on each side of the road,
concealed themselves from view, thinking we would
take a notion to return. He said they were armed with
rifles and shot-guns and intended to make angels of us
if we returned. He said they stood guard till morning.
They were no doubt anxious to increase the size of the
cemetery, at that time the pride of the town.
By riding south in a deep arroyo, I struck the rail
road track and followed this into town. Riding up to
the rear of a drug store I kicked on the door till the
angry old Dutchman in his night-shirt opened the door.
After purchasing needles and thread, sticking plaster
and a candle, I returned to the stock yards the same way
I had come.
I found poor Adams groaning with pain, but he kicked
like a bronco steer when my knee was put on the wound
to force the swollen flesh back in its place so that it could
be sewed up. The horseshoe shaped protruding flesh
could not be pushed back in place on a level with the
rest of the body, therefore I had to discard the needle
and thread and use sticking plaster.
We had an 18 mile ride to make to the Bates & Beals
cattle camp, and towards the last part of the ride I
had to hold Adams on his horse, he was so weak from
loss of blood. We arrived in camp long after daylight.
We had both hired out to this firm to drive a bunch of
steers into the wild Panhandle of Texas, and there help
to establish a new ranch.
From "boys" who went into Dodge City next day,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 319
we learned that long-haired Jim White, who was the
boss of a large gang of buffalo-hunters, was not dead,
though very low. His skull was cracked in several
places and a lot of sewing had to be done on his many
wounds. He finally recovered. It was one of White's
men who had stabbed Adams.
Our "boys" reported that the officers had no suspicion
as to who Adams and I were.
In the course of a couple of weeks, Adams was able
to ride.
This little scrape illustrates what fools cowboys were
after long drives over the trail. Had a shot been fired
that night in the dance-hall as a starter, the chances are
several new mounds would have been added to that fat
graveyard.
I continued on the trail of my two train-robbers, on
horse-back, in buggies and on trains. They passed
through the outskirts of Wichita, where I spent one night
visiting old friends and acquaintances. Among them
were Bedford Wood, ex-city marshal of Caldwell, Kan
sas, now a city detective in Wichita, and "Dynamite"
David Lahey, a brilliant newspaper writer of early border
days ; also Jack Davis, proprietor of a white bull dog
and the swell Club Saloon of Wichita.
After retiring for the night in this prosperous little
city of 25,000 people, my mind naturally drifted back to
a summer night in 1876 when I entered the place, then a
village of the wild and woolly kind with about 2,000
population.
I had just arrived from a three months' cattle drive
up the Chisholm trail from Southern Texas, and during
330 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
the night I was arrested by policeman Mike Meagher,
who afterwards became town marshal of Caldwell, Kans.
and was shot and killed in the bloody Talbot cowboy
raid on Caldwell, when the streets were made red with
human blood. But Mike Meagher was a kind-hearted
officer and on account of my youth liberated me after
a few words of friendly advice.
Another cowboy and I had tried to play smart by
scaring the old fellow who kept the toll bridge across
the Arkansas river, and at the same time beat him out
of the toll which was 25 cents each. We cared nothing
for the money as our pockets were bulging out with a
summer's wages. We were on our way from the town
proper, to the Red Light dance-hall across the river.
When the bridge man came out of his shaaty to collect
the toll we both put spurs to our horses and pulling our
pistols began shooting into the air. The old man jumped
into his shanty and came out with a double-barrel shot
gun. By that time we were nearly across the bridge and
our pistols were empty, but the old fellow turned both
barrels loose at us and we could hear the buckshot
rattling along the bridge at our horses' feet. One shot
struck me in the calf of the right leg, leaving a mark to
this day as a reminder of the hurrah cattle days of
Wichita, where the noted "Wild Bill" Hecock made his
first record as a man-killer, while marshal of that town.
From here I followed the trail south to Caldwell,
Kansas.
In this former hurrah cattle town, where I once made
my home for about two years, I met many old-time
friends, too numerous to mention. Among them were
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 321
only two ex-cowboys, Jay Willis and "Dick" Malone,
and a solitary ex-cattle king, Sol. Tuttle.
My friend "Dick" had drifted to bleeding Kansas with
a herd of longhorns from Southern Texas. And his
inclination then was to help paint towns red. But now
he does his painting with a brush instead of with "red
licker" and a six-shooter. He is following his trade of
painting houses and ceilings sky blue, and in living
happily with a pretty wife and sweet little daughter,
Katherine.
From Caldwell the robbers followed the Indian Terri
tory and Kansas line to Arkansas City, Kansas. Here
I continued on the trail to Winfield, thence to Coffee-
ville and into the Indian Territory through the towns
of Wagner and Tahlequah to Ft. Smith, Arkansas.
Before reaching Ft. Smith I was joined by operative
Darkbird who had been sent from Denver to assist me.
We trailed the men and horses through Pine Bluff and
to Hot Springs, Arkansas. Here we lost the trail. We
split up and searched the surrounding country. Soon
I received a telegram from Darkbird in Tennessee tell
ing me to meet him in Nashville, the capital city of that
state, as our men had got rid of their horses and boarded
a train for there. I hurried to Nashville by way of St.
Louis, Missouri, where I spent one night with my sister
and her family. In Nashville I met operative Darkbird
and found he had followed a wrong trail. The men
he had followed were evidently desperadoes, but not
the ones we wanted.
Here Darkbird became sick with malaria and returned
to Denver.
21
322 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
A couple of years later in looking over correspondence
on this operation, I found one of Mr. W. L. Dickenson's
letters to Gen. Supt. McCartney. It was dated Chicago,
Dec. 22nd, 1899, and stated:
"I note that operative Siringo has picked up the trail
of these men at Benton, Arkansas, and that operative
Darkbird has returned home, being very sick with ma
laria. I am very sorry to hear of operative Darkbird's
illness. The swamp country through which he passed
has evidently knocked him out. I fear it may do the
same with Siringo, but he is as tough as a pine knot
and I never knew of a man of his size who can endure
as much hardship as he does."
It gave me much satisfaction to know that I was
considered tough, in more ways than one.
In Nashville I saw more pretty girls to the square
inch than I had ever seen before or ever expect to see
again. I sat at a dinner table with about a dozen col
lege girls and each one was a beauty of the first water,
and on the streets my neck was almost disjointed looking
around at pretty young women. I was glad to get away
so as to give my eyes and neck a rest.
Arriving back in Hot Springs, Ark., I hired a saddle
horse and searched the mountains for a trace of my men.
This brought me among a queer class of people, some
of them moonshiners. One old moonshiner assisted in
putting me on the right trail of the robbers. Their trail
led through Little Rock, the capital of the state, thence
down the Arkansas river through the swamps to a wild
unsettled country 25 miles south of Stuttgart. Here the
loose horses were turned over to a long-haired old man,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 323
who had outlaw sons, by the name of La Cutts, who
lived in De Witt, not far from the mouth of the Ar
kansas river.
The robbers mounted the pretty cream colored and
the dapple iron-gray horses and headed north to White
River, thence down that stream to Clarendon, then due
east to Helena on the Mississippi river. Crossing the
"Father of Waters" they passed through Glendale and
Lula, Mississippi, thence east one hundred miles through
the "Black Belt," where in some places negroes are
thicker than flies on a syrup keg in August. They then
rode one hundred miles south, thence back west to the
Mississippi river at a boat landing above the town of
Rosedale. Here both robbers hired a man to ferry them
across the Mississippi to the mouth of the Arkansas
river, after their horses and saddles had been turned over
to a strange negro man who disappeared in the swamps.
At the mouth of the Arkansas river one robber, whose
name I had reason to believe was Owens, and who was
a desperate outlaw, went up the Arkansas river in a skiff,
while his companion boarded a little tramp steamer and
went down the "Father of Waters." They had agreed
to meet in two weeks, but I couldn't find out where. This
put me up a stump with no chance to proceed.
I went to the City of Vicksburg, Miss., and posted
officers to be on the look out for my men ; also did like
wise in the large towns of Indianola, Greenville and
Cleveland.
While trailing these men through the swamps of Mis
sissippi among the negroes, I had more fun than a
bushel of monkeys over the comical antics of these green
324 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
black men and women and their kinky-headed pickanin
nies.
Often I had to walk through the deep mud when a
horse or vehicle couldn't be hired. And my feed was
mostly corn bread, sorgum syrup and fat bacon.
Finally I received orders to give up the chase and
return to Denver, as my services were needed in Mon
tana on the same operation.
On quitting the chase I was about three weeks behind
the two train robbers.
In Denver I was informed by Asst. Supt. "Rank"
Curran, who had charge of the U. P. Ry. train holdup
operation, that W. O. Sayles had run into a brother,
Loney Curry, and a cousin, Bob Curry, of the noted
outlaw "Kid" Curry, in Harlin, Mont. ; that Loney and
Bob owned a saloon there and had sent some of the un
signed bills stolen in the Silcox, Wyo., robbery, off to
be cashed. In this way they were located, but sold their
saloon and skipped out before Sayles had a chance to
arrest them. They had become suspicious of Sayles,
so for that reason he could not work on their friends
secretly.
Sayles had found out that the right names of Kid
and Loney Curry were Harvey and Loney Logan and
that they were born and raised in Dodson, Mo., near
Kansas City, and that for years they had been making
their headquarters in the Little Rockies, a small range
of mountains 50 miles east of Harlin, the railroad sta
tion where Bob and Loney had owned the saloon. There
fore, I was instructed to meet Sayles in Helena, the
capital of Montana, and then buy a horse and saddle at
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 325
some point and ride into the Little Rockies and get in
with the friends of the Logan brothers.
So finally, with several hundred dollars in my pocket
I started for Helena, Mont. I took along instructions for
Sayles to hurry on direct to San Francico, Cal., there
to start in as Asst. Supt. of the Dickenson office in that
city. There was to be a change of superintendents in
the San Francisco office, and they wanted Sayles to
learn the office work by starting in as an assistant. He
was appointed superintendent soon after arriving in
San Francisco.
General Supt. of the Western Division, Jas. McCart
ney, had tried to induce me to accept the position of
Asst. Supt. of the San Francisco office before it was
offered to Sayles, but I refused it. I told him that if
he should ever die and the Dickensons should offer me
his position I might consider it, but wouldn't promise
that I would accept it. The truth is, I didn't want to
be tied down in an office, even with an advance in salary
and a chance to swell up with self-importance.
In Helena, Mont., I visited with W. O. Sayles and
detective M. B. Wilmers a couple of days. Sayles gave
me much information about the Little Rockies, although
he had not been there himself, but he had talked with
many men who had.
It was thought best for me to outfit in Great Falls
and ride about two hundred and fifty miles across the
"bad lands," to Landusky, the small cattle town in the
Little Rocky mountains.
Bidding Sayles goodby I boarded a train for Great
Falls, Mont., where I bought a bucking broncho mare and
326 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
started east for Lewiston, Mont., about three days' ride.
In Lewiston a severe blizzard was raging, it being about
the latter part of February. I waited two days for it
to moderate, but it seemed to grow worse. Therefore,
a start was made one morning when the thermometer
registered about 20 below zero, and with the wind blow
ing a gale. The people at the hotel advised me not to
start, and I wished before night that I had heeded their
advice.
My route lay over a flat country north to Rocky Point
on the Missouri river, a distance of about 80 miles, and
only one ranch on the route. It was this ranch that I
aimed to reach before night. After traveling against
this cold wind about 15 miles I could stand it no longer.
My mare could hardly be kept headed towards the bliz
zard. I had a woolen hood over my face and head and
even then my nose and ears were about frozen. I could
see the mountains off to the east where I had been told
the mining camp of Gilt Edge was situated, so for there
I headed, not caring to return to Lewiston. About night
I struck the wagon road between Gilt Edge and Lewis-
ton, and then I was happy.
A long climb over this mountain range brought me
into the live camp of Gilt Edge about four hours after
dark. I felt like a half frozen fool for ever having
undertaken such a journey. But after I had gotten on
the outside of a large porterhouse steak and the trim
mings, which included two hot whiskies, I began to
thaw out and felt better.
Next morning I concluded to take a different route
to the Rocky Point crossing of the Missouri river. There-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 327
fore I obtained a sketch of the route to the "Red Barn"
on the south border of the "Bad Lands." A hard, cold
ride brought me to the "Red Barn" ranch, where I found
a crowd of cowboys congregated waiting for the weather
to moderate. From here it was 30 miles across the
"Bad Lands" to Rocky Point, and I was advised to lay
over a few days and wait for a "Chinook" wind to melt
the snow so that the dim road could be followed. I did
so, and while waiting, I gained some information about
the "Kid" Curry gang. Loney Curry had stopped here
before and after the Silcox train robbery on the U. P.
Railway.
I started one morning after a "Chinook" had been
blowing all night, so that the snow was almost gone,
but the sticky mud on the "Bad Lands" was something
fearful. It would stick to the mare's feet till the poor
animal could hardly gallop. I had seen many kinds of
sticky mud in my life, but nothing to equal this.
The warm wind was blowing a gale, and soon after
leaving the "Red Barn" I had a race after my broad
brim cowboy hat which made me swear and laugh by
turns. The country was level, and when my hat blew off
the wind took it "a sailing" across the country. It went
like a wheel, on edge, and I tried to keep up with it,
but my mare was handicapped in the race on account of
the balls of mud sticking to her hoofs. After a mile
and a half run I outwinded the hat and caught it, but
in getting off in the mud to pick it up after I had made
the mare step on it, I found I couldn't get my foot in the
stirrup, owing to the mud which was stuck fast to it.
Here my early cowboy training in the art of fancy swear-
328 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ing came in play, as it seemed to relieve my mind, while
the mud was being scraped off my foot with a knife.
I had been told of the many dim wagon roads leading
in different directions, which were liable to lead me
astray, and this gave me much worry when I came to
the forks of a road. The thoughts of a blizzard striking
me on these "Bad Lands" where there is no wood or
habitation, caused cold shivers to run down my back
whenever the dim trail seemed to be bearing away from
a north course. It was a cloudy day so that I couldn't
tell for sure which was north.
Just as night was approaching I found a piece of glass
from a telegraph pole. This satisfied me that I was on
the right road, hence I was happy. I had been told that
in the early days the government had a telegraph line
on the road to Rocky Point, but that the line had been
moved away years before. I still keep that piece of
green glass, as it had brought good cheer to my droop
ing spirits.
I arrived in Rocky Point on the south bank of the
Big Muddy river three hours after dark. Here I found
old man Tyler and his son running the ferry and keeping
a small Indian trading store.
My mare had only traveled 30 miles, but she had
carried about 75 pounds of mud across the "Bad Lands,"
hence she was almost played out on arriving at Rocky
Point.
I had often heard of the "Bad Lands" and wanted to
visit them, but now that desire has vanished.
Before reaching the Little Rockies, I learned that
outlaw Harvey Logan, alias Kid Curry, had a half in-
329
terest in a horse ranch "with one Jim T. ; that they owned
about 500 head of good horses which ranged in the
Little Rockies.
As luck would have it, on reaching Landusky, the
small village in the Little Rockies, I made the acquaint
ance of Jim T. through an accident. In riding by the
saloon in front of which were a crowd of rough looking
men, my mare shied and I spurred her in the flanks.
She began bucking and old Colts 45 flew out of the
scabbard, striking a rock in the street. When the mare
quit bucking, Jim T. gave me the pistol which he had
picked up. This meant a treat for the crowd, and I
became acquainted with the partner of "Kid Curry," the
slickest and most bloodthirsty outlaw of the age.
To recite all my ups and downs and the valuable in
formation about outlaws and tough characters secured
for my agency would take up too much space. Suffice
it to say that I played myself off for an old Mexico
outlaw and became "Solid Muldoon" with the worst
people of the community. I had adopted the name of
Chas. L. Carter.
Harvey Logan had killed old Pike Landusky, the man
for whom this town was named, several years previous,
which first started him on the road as a genuine des
perado. Jim T. informed me that he advised Harvey
to kill Landusky, and for that reason he will always be
his friend through thick and thin.
Pike Landusky's widow, Julia, still resided on their
ranch two miles out of town. The family consisted of
two boys and three girls. One of these girls, Elfie, 20
years of age and good looking, had a three-year-old son
330 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
by Loney Logan. They had never been married by law,
which seemed no disgrace here.
In trying to capture Loney Logan at Dodson, Missouri,
where he was in hiding with his aunt, Mrs. Lee, mother
to Bob Lee, alias "Bob Curry," by officials of the Dick-
enson agency (my friend Tom F. Kipple being at the
killing) he was shot through the head and killed.
I had made myself "solid" with Elfie Curry, as she
was called, hence read all of her letters and was told
all of her secrets. She had stacks of letters from her
husband, as she called Loney, and also from Mrs. Lee
and her daughter, and during Bob Lee's trial in Chey
enne, Wyo., she received letters from the lawyers whom
Mrs. Lee had sent from Kansas City, Mo., to defend
her son. As I had free access to Elfie's trunks I could
read these letters at any time.
The Kansas City lawyer came to Landusky after evi
dence to prove an alibi for Bob Lee, and while he was
working with Elfie and Jim T., I was introduced to him,
and learned all of his secrets. Jim T. would meet him
at Elfie's house in town.
During the round-ups and horse branding trips I
showed my skill in throwing a rope. This made me
solid with Jim T. who lived with his common-law wife
on a ranch a few miles south of Landusky. They had a
bright little three-year-old boy named Harvey in honor of
the outlaw Harvey Logan. This little fellow felt at home
with a small pistol buckled around his waist, — then he
would go wild. A high picket fence had to be built
around the house to keep him from running away.
One evening during the past winter when the ther-
LITTLE HARVEY T. AND His DOG.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 331
mometer was hovering about zero, little Harvey struck
out for "tall timber" with his pet dog, a large yellow
cur. They tramped the hills all night. Next morning
the whole population of Landusky, in the male line,
about twenty-five men, were out searching for the child's
corpse, as it was thought impossible for a boy of his
tender age to endure the bitter cold night. But the
little fellow proved to be tough like his daddy. He was
found in the afternoon many miles from home, huddled
up by the side of his pet dog, fast asleep. The warmth
from the dog's body had no doubt saved his life.
This boy is pretty good material for a future train-
robber. He says that will be his occupation, and his
father encourages him, as he says he would like to see
him prove as brave a man as his namesake, Harvey
Logan.
"Like begets like" is a true saying. There is no
doubt but that Jim T. was a hard case and landed in
Montana under an assumed name.
Mrs. Julia Landusky gave me many inside facts of
Jim T. and his actions when he first landed in the Little
Rockies as a slender young man. Now he is a middle-
aged, large, heavy man.
Judging from the time he came to the Little Rockies
and his description as given by Mrs Landusky, Mr.
W. L. Dickenson is confident Jim T. is no other than
"Dad" Jackson of the noted Sam Bass gang who robbei
the Union Pacific train near Ogalalla, Nebraska, in the
early '7o's. Most of this gang were killed or sent to
the penitentiary for this hold-up, "Dad" Jackson being
the only one who made his "get-away." Mr. Dickenson,
332 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
who was then an operative in the agency, worked on
the case.
Shortly after my arrival in the Little Rockies I re-
jceived a ducking in the cold icy waters of a branch of
Milk river. I was going to Harlin on the Great North
ern railroad, with Puck Powell, the ex-cowboy post
master of Landusky. We were the only passengers in
the open stage coach drawn by four horses. On reach
ing the swollen stream which was full of broken ice,
we persuaded the kid driver to swim the team across.
When out in mid-stream the large chunks of ice struck
the stage coach, carrying horses and all down stream.
The spring seats were all that showed above water, and
Puck, the driver and I, were upon these. We were hav
ing a free ride with the poor horses trying to swim up
stream. Something had to be done to save the horses
from dirowning, so with all my clothes on I jumped into
the icy cold water. On reaching the bank in a bend of
the creek the driver threw me the lines. The lead horses
were pulled ashore and the vehicle swung around against
the steep clay bank, so that Puck and the driver could
step off without getting wet.
Undressing in the cold wind to wring the water out
of my clothes, gave me a taste of old-time cowboy life.
We didn't reach the stage station until dark.
During the month of June, I came within an ace of
losing my breath, which would have put me out of busi
ness for all time.
I was at Jim T.'s ranch and he got me to drive a
bronco team to Rocky Point on the Missouri river
twenty-five miles. This team of four-year-old browns
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 333
had only been hitched up in harness a couple of times.
The broncos were hitched to an old buckboard and a
bottle of water put under the seat, as the weather was
hot and no water en route.
Before starting at 7:30 A. M. Jim T. cautioned me to
be careful as this team had run away and smashed up
a vehicle the past fall, since which time they had been
running wild on the range.
The twenty-five mile drive to Rocky Point was over
a broken, rocky country, with a very dim wagon road
to follow, and there was not a habitation on the road.
Jim T. opened the gate and I started with the browns
tugging at their bits. For the first few miles the horses
made several efforts to run, though I managed to get
them checked up, but when about five miles out, business
started. As we flew over the rocky road as fast as the
horses could run, I remember seeing something black,
which must have been one of the tug-straps, hitting the
broncos on the hind legs. I also remember seeing a deep
gully ahead, and to avoid it, I threw my weight onto one
line to turn the team around the head of the short gully.
I cannot account for my not jumping and letting the out
fit go to the d — 1, for I've been in runaways before, and
I generally sprout imaginary wings and fly out of the
rig. I am all right on a horse's back, but a rank coward
in a vehicle.
When I woke up the sun was about two hours high,
it being about 5 p. M. I was lying flat on my back with
the hot June sun shining in my face. I couldn't move
or open my eyes, and I wondered what was wrong.
Finally, by making a strong effort, I got my right hand
334 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
up to my eyes, — the left arm couldn't be raised. I dis
covered that my face and eyes were covered with a
baked coating of some kind. This was scraped from
my eyes when they opened. Still, I couldn't think what
was wrong. Soon I became deathly sick at my stomach
and started to vomiting. I managed to turn over on
my left side so as to vomit on the ground. Then I dis
covered that I was throwing up blood. Raising up
my head I saw the hind wheels and the bed of the buck-
board upside down, and only a few yards from me lay my
Colts 45 pistol and the bottle of water which was put
in the buckboard on starting. Then it all came fresh
to my mind of the runaway, but I didn't remember of
the vehicle turning over. The last that I could recall
was turning the team around the head of the gully.
As I was dying for a drink of water after lying in
the hot sun for eight or nine hours, every nerve in my
body was strained to crawl to the bottle of water.
A little of the water was used to wash the blood out
of my eyes. In vomiting, while on my back with my
head slightly down hill, the blood had run over my face
and eyes and when dried, had formed a hard crust.
The water and the crawling had revived me so that
I could sit up. On feeling the top of my head I found
that my high stubborn bump had overflowed and filled
up the hole where the religious bump ought to have
been, according to phrenology rules. In fact, the top
of my head was badly swollen, which showed that I had
landed on the ground wrong end up. My back pained
the worst, and it was like pulling a tooth to try to get
onto my feet. Therefore I started out to crawl back
to the Jim T. ranch about five miles. After crawling
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 335
a few hundred yards I managed to gain my feet. Sev
eral times en route I was on the eve of giving up and
lying down to rest, but the fear that I wouldn't be able
to get on my feet again, kept me pushing ahead.
When within a mile of the ranch, after the sun had
set, I saw a man afoot running towards me. I was reel
ing from one side to the other like a drunken bum, and
this had brought Jim T. to my rescue. He saved me
from a fall by grabbing me in his strong arms just as
I was falling. I had given up and couldn't have walked
another step. I was carried to the house and put to
bed. Jim T. kept a good supply of horse liniment in the
house and he used this on me with a lavish hand as
though it was water. There was no doctor nearer than
the railroad fifty miles, so I wouldn't consent to T. going
after one.
Two days later the bronco team were found, still drag
ging the front wheels of the buckboard.
While recovering, I had a good chance to get informa
tion about the "Wild Bunch," from Jim T., but he would
never give a hint as to where "Kid" Curry was, though
I found out enough to convince me that they kept up
a correspondence through the post office in the prosperous
town of Chinook, on the railroad, not far from Harlin,
but under what names, I couldn't tell. He informed
me that his mail addressed to Landusky was watched
when it left the railroad station of Harlin.
In talking, Jim T. showed a very bitter spirit against
the Dickensons for killing his friend Loney Logan, and
for sending Bob Lee, alias "Bob Curry" to the pen.
Our agency had lately captured and convicted Bob Lee
for his connection in the Silcox, Wyo. U. P. train hold-
336 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
up. He was caught in Cripple Creek, Colo., and con>
victed and sentenced to the pen for ten years, in Chey
enne, Wyo.
Jim T. assured me that Loney's brother "Kid Curry"
would soon get even with the U. P. railroad company
and the Dickensons by robbing another U. P. train ; that
the "Kid" was then in the south making preparation for
a deal of that kind.
It was three weeks before I had fully recovered from
the runaway, and even to this day I can feel the effects
of the fall in my head and arm.
I had found out many secrets of past crimes in the
west.
We knew that Flat Nose George Curry (who was not
related to "Kid" and Loney "Curry") was one of the
robbers of the Silcox, Wyo., train hold-up, and deputy
U. S. Marshal Joe LaFors of Cheyenne, had written the
officials of the U. P. railroad that he had learned through
a reliable source that Flat Nose George Curry was with
a tough character named Henry Smith, somewhere in
the northwestern part of the state of Chihuahua in Old
Mexico. Therefore I received orders by mail to meet
LaFors in Denver and go with him to Old Mexico in
search of Flat Nose George Curry.
We had decided that "Kid" Curry, Jim T.'s partner,
would steer clear of the Little Rockies where every one
knew him, but in this we were mistaken, for not long
after I left he slipped back and killed Ranchman Winters
who had killed his brother Johnny.
Winters was a prosperous stock raiser and he told
me that he expected to be waylaid and killed by "Kid"
Curry,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 337
In the latter part of August I slipped out of the coun
try on my red roan horse for which I had traded the
bucking mare. No one knew I was going but my sup
posed sweetheart Elfie Curry. I told her that my partner
was to be executed for a crime we had both committed
in Old Merico, and that I feared he would confess and
give me away; that if he did she would never see me
again as I intended to cut my suspenders and go straight
up, where my friends would never hear of me. Other
wise I would return. She was given a certain address
in New Mexico from whence letters would be forwarded
to me.
Nearly a year afterwards a letter from her reached
me through that address. In her letter she wrote that
poor little Loney, her four-year-old boy, was heart
broken over my long absence, and kept asking: "Mamma
when is Mr. Carter coming home ?" The little fellow was
pretty and bright, and we had become greatly attached
to each other. Of course, the letter was not answered,
and I heard no more of them.
In Harlin my horse and saddle were sold and I boarded
a train for Denver.
On reaching home Joe LaFors met me and we went
to El Paso, Texas, together. In El Paso LaFors located
until I could run down Henry Smith and his chum who
was supposed to be Flat Nose George Curry.
It had been agreed by Mr. Morris Butt, the president
of the West Pacific Railway Company, that LaFors
could stay in El Paso until I ran the men down. Then I
was to notify LaFors and he would come to me to
identify Flat Nose George Curry, whom he had seen.
338 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
In El Paso I boarded a train for Casas Grandes, Mex
ico, at the foot of the Sierra Madre mountains. There I
secured a horse and saddle and the strenuous part of my
work began.
About 100 miles northwest of Casas Grandes, in Janos,
a large Mexican town, I got on the trail of my men. But
in the wind-up two weeks later, I concluded that Henry
Smith's chum was not Flat Nose George Curry.
In the Mormon Colony of Bias I wired to Joe LaFors,
in El Paso, Texas, that we were on the wrong trail —
hence he could return home to Cheyenne, Wyoming.
Soon after this Flat Nose George Curry was shot and
killed in Utah, while trying to resist his capture. This
confirmed my decision that Smith's chum was not the
man wanted.
While resting a few days in the Mormon colony of
Dias, Mexico, I saw some queer sparking. The pretty
eighteen-year-old hired girl at the place I was stopping
made love to the sixty-year-old proprietor, and married
him. This made his fourth wife, all living within a
stone's throw of each other.
On this trip into Old Mexico I recognized several
former cowboy chums, but I didn't make myself known
Among them was one who was outlawed from Texas.
He was going under an assumed name and was living
with a native woman. They had a house full of little
half-breeds of all sizes, from the oradle up into the teens.
So, why disturb him when he was faithfully assisting
Mother Nature to improve the human race.
From Dias I rode on a stage coach to a station on the
Sierra Madre railway, and arrived back in Denver after
an absence of over a month.
CHAPTER XV
A i,ooo-MiLE HORSEBACK RIDE FROM GRAND JUNCTION,
COLO., TO ALMA, NEW MEXICO — IN WITH "Kn>"
CURRY'S "WILD BUNCH" CROWD, IN COLORADO,
UTAH, ARIZONA, NEW MEXICO AND WYOMING.
Arriving in Denver, Colorado, I found out the par
ticulars of a late train hold-up on the U. P. railroad at
Tipton, Wyoming.
Our Asst. Supt, Mr. Goddil, had been on the ground
investigating this late robbery and had decided that "Kid"
Curry, Bill Cruzan and a man who might be Long-
bough, did the job.
Jim T. of Landusky, Montana, had told me that "Kid"
Curry was planning to rob the U. P. Ry. again to get
revenge for the Dickensons killing1 his brother, Loney,
hence I concluded that Jim T. knew what he was talking
about.
Our agency had just received a "tip" through an ex-
convict in Grand Junction, Colo., that he talked with
"Kid" Curry and a tall companion at their camp on a
Mesa twenty miles south of Grand Junction, and that
they told him they were going south where the "climate
would fit their clothes," and that they had just broken
camp and started south on horseback. Therefore, I
was hustled right out to get on the trail of these two men.
I was instructed to pick up their trail if possible, and
stay with it wherever it might lead, and should the trail
839
340 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
not be found, then I was to drift southwest through Utah
and Arizona and into New Mexico to Alma, in western
Socorro county, where some of the stolen unsigned U. S.
bills from the Silcox, Wyo., robbery had been passed.
A 300 mile ride over the Continental Divide on the
D. & R. G. Ry., brought me to the little city of Grand
Junction where my friend "Doc" Shores and his lovely
wife — she who fed my face so well while I was a pris
oner in the Gunnison jail, years before — have a beautiful
home.
While purchasing horses and getting an outfit ready
for the trail, I made my headquarters at the Shores resi
dence, but on the sly, so no one would see me coming
and going, as every man, woman and child in that town
knows Shores as an officer.
During my stay I made the acquaintance of Charlie
Wallis, the sheriff of this, Mesa county. He was an ex-
cowboy from Texas, and New Mexico, and an old friend
of Tom Hall's, now Tom Nichols, of Price, Utah ; hence
we had some pleasant chats of old-time cowboy days.
I started south with a blue-roan saddle horse and a
red-roan pack horse, and they were both good ones for
such a trip, more especially the saddle animal which
could make a meal on greasewood or any kind of rubbish
when it came to a show-down during deep snows when
the feed played out.
Before reaching the Paradox Valley, the home of the
notorious Young boys who are known far and wide as
"bad" men, I made the acquaintance of a Mr. Elliott
and his brother-in-law W. B. Moss, and found out for
sure that my men had passed their ranch only a week
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 341
ahead of me. I showed Mr. Elliott the photo of "Kid"
Curry and he was positive that the small dark man was
the same as the photo. Before making a confidant of
young Elliott, I satisfied myself that he was all right
and could be trusted. Of course I had to trust to my
judgment in human nature.
From Elliott's ranch the two train hold-ups were
trailed into the Paradox Valley and right up to Ed
Young's ranch, and from Ed Young's father-in-law, who
had no idea that I was a detective, I found out that the
two robbers had gone south with Lafe Young, who was
an outlaw and dodging the officers. He had last seen
them in the La Salle mountains where they had a bunch
of range horses rounded up with a view of stealing a
fresh mount.
I remained in the Paradox Valley about a week and
became quite "chummy" with Bill Young and met his
mother and pretty black-eyed young sister.
There was a store in the valley, and from the proprie
tor Thomas Swain, I gained much valuable information.
He was an honest old Englishman and I made a con
fidant of him.
I had got on the wrong trail by following two men
into the La Salle mountains, and through Thomas Swain
I found out that one of them was my friend "Cunny"
of New Mexico. They were on a prospecting trip to
Utah and Nevada. Seeing "Cunny's" handwriting where
he wrote to have his mail forwarded, convinced me that
I was on the wrong trail, but I soon got on the right trail
and headed south through a wild unsettled country, for
the Blue Mountains of southern Utah.
342 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
In the Blue mountains I got in with a tough gang, one
of whom was Bill G. the manager of the Carlisle Cattle
Ranch. He was an outlaw from Oklahoma and New
Mexico, and gave me the secrets of his past life. From
him I found out that my men "Kid" Curry and his tall
chum, who was a stranger in that country, had left the
hidden haystack the morning previous to my arrival,
Lafe Young being with them. The two train robbers he
said were broke, as they had failed to get any money
from their last train hold-up at Tipton, Wyoming, hence
he gave them a supply of grub. They told G. that they
were going where the climate would fit their clothes.
He figured that meant Arizona or New Mexico, as their
clothes were light for cold weather.
Every fall Bill G. put up a stack of hay for his outlaw
friends so that they wouldn't have to feed their horses
at his ranch. This haystack was hidden in a heavy grove
of pifion and cedar timber a couple of miles from the
ranch. My men camped one night at this hidden hay
stack and then pulled out for Indian Creek where Bill G.
visited their camp next day to recover a Winchester
rifle which they had stolen by mistake from one of his
cowboys. He had just returned when I arrived.
I drifted over to Indian Creek, a place noted for tough
characters, and got in "solid" with an outlaw named
"Peg-leg." His chum "Kid" Jackson was afraid of me
for fear I might be a detective.
"Peg-leg" had been to the camp of my two men, and
Lafe Young had told him that they were Union Pacific
train-robbers making their "get-away," but he didn't
learn their names. His description of the small dark
man tallied with that of "Kid" Curry to a dot.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 343
"Peg-leg" informe me that just previous to my arrival
on Indian Creek, these men broke camp. Lafe Young
returned north while the two train-robbers drifted south
down the Colorado 'river.
One day "Peg-leg" and I rode into Monticello, the
Mormon county seat of San Juan County, Utah, a dis
tance of twenty miles. It was a small town of 200 people,
presided over by Bishop Jones of the Mormon church.
En route to Monticello "Peg-leg" and I rested for an
hour on top of a high mountain ridge from whence we
could view the whole country around for a hundred
miles or more. It was a clear sunshiny day. Looking
to the westward beyond the Indian Creek settlement, the
great Colorado river could be seen with its jagged cliffs
and canyons, which made a beautiful sight. And beyond
the Colorado river "Peg-leg" pointed out the "Robbers'
Roost," which "Butch" Casiday and the "Wild Bunch"
used as headquarters for several years until Joe Bush and
a posse of Salt Lake City officers made a raid on the
"Roost" and killed some of the gang.
Beyond the "Robbers' Roost" was the Henry mount-
tains, a mere bluish blotch on the lovely blue sky. The
distance to them from where we lay, as the bird flies,
was about seventy-five miles, but in order to reach them
one would have to travel about 200 miles, as the country
between is almost impassable and devoid of inhabitants.
"Peg-leg" told of secret trails to the Colorado river,
and of the "Wild Bunch" having a boat hidden in the
rushes at a certain point so they could cross the river and
reach the Henry mountains quickly. He said that "Kid"
Jackson used this boat a week previous.
344 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Southwest from where we' were there is not a human
habitation for about 300 miles down in Arizona, and it
is a very rough country with a scarcity of water, there
fore it can be realized what a haven of rest it must be
for the "Wild Bunch" and their kind.
"Peg-leg" and I aimed to reach Monticello after dark,
so that he wouldn't be seen until he found out if the
coast was clear; in other words, if there were any out
side officers in the county looking for criminals. After
we had put up our horses and had a lunch in a cabin
on the outskirts of town, "Peg-leg" borrowed my pistol
so that he would have two, leaving his Winchester rifle
with me, and struck out in the dark to find the sheriff
of the county. He had told me that the sheriff stood in
with the outlaws and kept them posted as to when there
was danger in the air, but I didn't know whether to
believe it or not. To satisfy myself I followed "Peg-leg"
in the dark, keeping my rifle hidden under my coat.
"Peg-leg" found the sheriff at a dance and they met
under some trees in a dark place and had a long pow
wow. This seemed strange considering that the sheriff
had warrants in his pocket for "Peg-leg" and at least
half a dozen for "Peg-leg's" chum, "Kid" Jackson.
On returning to the cabin "Peg-leg" reported to me
that the coast was clear and that no outside officers or
detectives were in the county. We then put in a few
hours with "Peg-leg's" sweetheart and her mother.
"Peg-leg" told how the past winter two officers left
the railroad with a team and buggy to search for "Kid"
Jackson in the Indian Creek country, there being big
rewards out for his arrest; that these officers wrote to
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 345
the sheriff asking that he meet them. The sheriff then
sent for "Kid" Jackson and told him to "hit the high
places" until these officers left. But instead of hiding
out, "Kid" Jackson and "Peg-leg" went to these officers'
camp one night, running off their horses and shooting
into their tent, the result being the two sleuths had to
"hoof it" back to Moab where they secured transporta
tion to the railroad.
I found out that Bill G. had been sheriff of this county
two terms, and when he couldn't hold it any longer he
selected a man who was a member of the Mormon
church whom he could trust to protect his friends among
the outlaw class. I got this from "Peg-leg" and Bill G.
himself. No wonder the Blue Mountains have been an
outlaw's paradise for many years.
During my three weeks' stay in the Blue mountains I
gained much information about past crimes and the
names of noted outlaws. I found out that a "bad" out
law of Texas had married a Mormon girl on Indian
Creek, under an assumed name, but after they had been
married a year or two he confessed the truth to his
wife. She then fixed it with the church so that they
could be married in his own name in a way that the
secret wouldn't leak out. This was done to place their
children on the shady side of Heaven; otherwise they
would be on the sunny side of Hades. Bishop Jones of
Monticello performed the church ceremony in secret, so
that the man's true name wouldn't leak out. I got this
from Bishop Jones' own lips after I had made a con
fidant of him. I also met this ex-outlaw from Texas
and found him to be a nice fellow, apparently.
346 rA COWBOY DETECTIVE
After making a confidant of Bishop Jones, a fine law-
abiding citizen, he gave me some valuable "tips;" but
he was very angry when I gave him the secrets of how
his Mormon sheriff was standing in with the "Wild
Bunch." He assured me that a law-abiding sheriff would
be put in at the next election, and no doubt he kept his
word, for I heard that Bill G. was sent to the Utah
penitentiary soon after election.
After leaving the Blue mountains I drifted south to
BlufT City on the San Juan river, thence west 120 miles
over that uninhabited, rocky, desert country, over which
Sayles and I passed, to Dandy Crossing on the Colorado
river.
On reaching the foot of Elk mountain a deep snow
covered up all trails and the clouds and falling snow
prevented my seeing familiar landmarks to guide my
way. The result was that I was lost for a couple of days
and nights ; and one dark night I saw the campfire of
Jim Scorrup down in a deep canyon. I was then twenty
miles off my road to the southward. Jim Scorrup of
Bluff City was camped all alone under a ledge of rock,
and had a whopping big fire burning. The sight of this
fire raised a cowboy yell in my throat that startled Scor
rup and his shepherd dog. I was wet, tired, and hungry.
Scorrup was out hunting lost stock. Next day
the sun came out and Scorrup put me on the right trail
to Dandy Crossing. He went with me as far as White's
Canyon and we camped together that night. We bade
each other goodby next morning and I haven't seen him
since, but there will always remain a warm spot in my
heart for Jim Scorrup, as he knows how to put new
life into a lost sinner.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 347
On reaching Dandy Crossing about night, during a
severe rain storm, Col. Hite, formerly a wealthy poli
tician of Springfield, Illinois, helped to swim my two
horses across the Colorado river. In doing so the
Colonel got his 250 pounds of flesh wet to the skin. We
had trouble making the horses "take the water," and
Hite let me do all the swearing, as he said he had been
brought up a Christian and felt better to do his swearing
by proxy.
From Dandy Crossing I rode north through the Henry
mountains to Hanksville, two hard days' ride. As
Sayers and I had been in Hanksville, I felt at home here
with Charlie Gibbons and his family, with whom I put up.
I made a confidant of Mr. Gibbons and told him my busi
ness. He gave me some new pointers about "Butch"
Casiday and the "Wild Bunch." He had first become
acquainted with Casiday after he helped to rob the Mont-
pelier, Idaho, bank out of a large pile of gold. This
gold was turned over to Gibbons for safe keeping, he
not knowing of the robbery. Later it was taken to the
"Robbers' Roost," fifty miles east of Hanksville, where
the "Wild Bunch" used twenty dollar gold pieces for
poker chips.
Bill G. had told me of going into the "Robbers' Roost"
while sheriff of San Juan County, Utah, and of how his
friend "Butch" Casiday and his gang kept him there two
days playing poker for twenty dollar gold pieces, they
staking him out of their pile of gold.
I had received orders from Asst. Supt. "Rank" Curran,
through the mail, to drift over to the Sevier Valley,
where "Butch" Casiday was born and raised, and find
348 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
out all I could about that outlaw, for future use; and
from there drift south through Arizona and New Mex
ico to Alma, in the latter territory, Alma being the
southern rendezvous for the "Wild Bunch," while the
Hole-in-the-Wall, in Wyoming, was their northern hang
out. This of course meant a horseback ride of over 1000
miles through the most God-forsaken desert country in
the United States.
On leaving Hanksville one morning a traveling photog
rapher took a snapshot of me and my horses. This
photograph I present herein to show what a cowboy
detective looks like when on the warpath, with bedding,
grub, and kitchen fixings tied to his saddle-pony's tail.
A day's ride due west up the Dirty Devil river brought
me to the Mormon settlement of Cainsville. Here I put
up for the night. On leaving the Dirty Devil next morn
ing to cross an unsettled rough desert called San Rafael
Swell, I bade goodby to civilization for a few days.
After the first night out I lost the dim trail and con
cluded to head due west over a high snowy range of
mountains for the town of Emery, at the head of Castle
Valley. Sayles and I had stopped there, hence I knew
by the lay of the mountains where the little Mormon
town was located on the opposite side of the mountains.
This proved to be a bad mistake, for after camping out
in the snow two nights I had to turn back as the snow
became too deep for travel, and I was not yet to the top
of the range.
That night I had no feed for the horses, and through
kindness of heart I hobbled them out, that is, tied their
front feet together so they could hobble around among
THE AUTHOR
ROBBERS.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 349
the rocks on a side hill and pick up a little dry grass.
This was mistake No. 2, for next morning I had to
shoulder my wrath and follow their tracks fifteen miles
to the head of Starvation Creek, where there was a
small spring. This was back in the direction of Dirty
Devil river. In traveling these fifteen miles afoot I felt
like swearing, but I realized the uselessness of uttering
cuss words where they would have been wasted on the
desert air. I contented myself by making a vow that
hereafter one of the horses would be tied up to a tree,
feed or no feed, as I would rather count their ribs than
their tracks.
The next morning I found the dim trail over which
Sayles and I had traveled. This was followed until
dark, where camp was pitched without either wood or
horse feed. And to make matters worse it was raining
hard.
The following morning I pushed ahead to reach a
ranch where Sayles and I had stopped nearly two years
previous. At that time a Mormon lady and her pretty
young daughter lived there alone, as their lord and mas
ter was absent trying to make a living, the soil on their
homestead being too poor to grow sufficient food. But
imagine my surprise on finding the place vacated and not
a blade of grass for my tired and hungry horses in sight.
It was about night and raining hard, which made the
road slippery and hard on the horses.
About midnight we came to a ranch on the side of the
road, which was considered as being only four miles from
Emery. Dismounting, I went to the house and knocked
on the door, and a dog inside made a terrible racket, as
350 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
though he wanted to eat me up. Repeated knocks and
loud calls failed to bring any one to the door. I thought
seriously of breaking down the door, and if it had to be
done, killing the dog and cooking a supper, providing
there was anything to eat in the house. But on second
thought I concluded it dangerous, as there might be
someone inside with a gun. Thus was my well developed
cautious bump getting in its work.
Finally I started in the cold rain, and the poor horses
didn't want to go. A half-hour's ride brought me to a
small raging creek which my horses wouldn't go into,
despite the severe spurring received by my mount. Then
we turned back with the intention of breaking down the
ranchman's door, but to my great delight, on coming in
sight, a light was shining in the window and before
knocking I heard voices inside. On knocking I was ad
mitted, and the frightened woman who was alone with
her small children, explained that she didn't open the
door the first time because she was afraid, and that after
I had been gone quite awhile, she built a fire to make
coffee to quiet her nerves.
By the time the horses were put in the stable and fed,
the kind lady had a hot meal on the table and I ate din
ner, supper, and a three o'clock breakfast all at one time.
Then I lay down by the open fireplace to sleep.
But why waste time to chronicle the hardships of a
fool cow-puncher who had started out as a detective to
see the world and to study the phrenology bumps on the
heads of other people, instead of living the "simple life"
on a small patch of the earth's surface. So I will hurry
on to Alma, New Mexico, the outlaws' Paradise, near
the border of Old Mexico.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 351
A ride of several days over mountain trails landed
me in Circleville, the home of "Butch" Casiday before
he turned out to be the shrewdest and most daring out
law of the present age, though not of the blood-spilling
kind like "Kid" Curry and "Black Jack."
A week was spent in the straggling village of Circle
ville, and I found out all about "Butch's" early life and
much about his late doings. His true name was Parker,
his nickname being "Sallie" Parker when a boy. This
nickname of itself was enough to drive a sensitive boy
to the "bad."
I had hard work to keep from falling in love with Miss
Parker, the pretty young sister of "Butch" Casiday.
She was the deputy postmistress in Circleville, and I
made her acquaintance.
Harti, cold rides brought me to the town of Panguitch,
thence due south to the Mormon town of Kanab, on the
line of Arizona. Here I laid in a good supply of grub,
as this was the last settlement for hundreds of miles.
A three days' ride over the Buckskin mountains and
down the great Colorado river, brought me to Lee's Ferry
on that stream. Not a habitation or a settler was seen
between Kanab and Lee's Ferry, Arizona, and I found
water scarce and "far between." But it was surely a
treat to see this lone ranch down in the narrow valley
of the Colorado. It was indeed an oasis in the desert.
Here green alfalfa was a foot high and the flowers, and
the combs on the chickens were in full bloom.
Another three days over an uninhabited desert coun
try brought me to the Indian trading store at Willow
Creek. From here I turned due east across the Navajo
352
Indian Reservation and through the Moqui Indian coun
try, my object being to find out if any of the "Wild
Bunch" had been seen lately. Therefore, for the next
two weeks I was among Indians all the time, and I
learned some interesting lessons, especially among the
Moquis, who live on the very top of round mountains in
the desert. At one of the big Moqui villages I took my
horses up the steep trail and rode into the Chief's front
yard. My horses were fed and the Indians made an
idol of me. They dug up old rusty dried venison which
had been butted for a coon's age, so as to give me a
feast fit for the gods. I remained all night and was in
vited to take me a squaw and become one of them, but I
told the Chief that I wasn't ready to settle down, as I
wanted to settle up first.
On the Navajo and Moqui Indian Reservations I vis
ited the Keams and the Hubbell trading posts. Both
Captain Keams and Mr. Lorenzo Hubbell treated me
royally and gave me valuable information about "Kid"
Curry and his gang, when the previous spring, they left
a trail of blood behind them in making thei? "getaway"
from southern New Mexico. They had killed two of
ficers near here, and killed other men before reaching
Wyoming.
Finally I crossed the Atlantic & Pacific railroad at
Gallup, New Mexico, thence south through the Zuni
Indian country to a* salt lake a few miles east of the
Arizona line. Here I found a settlement of Mexicans
putting up salt for the markets in far off towns. And
here I saw a great curiosity in the form of a bottomless
lake on the top of a round mountain. To reach it one
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 353
has to climb to the top of the mountain on the outside
and down a trail on the inside. I went swimming in it,
as the water is warm in winter, it being out of reach of
the wind. It is said that the Government tried to find
the bottom of this salty body of hidden water, but failed
after putting down a line 3000 feet. The lake from
whence the salt is gathered lies at the foot of this round
mountain.
From here I went to the line of Arizona, where a few
days previous two of Pete Slaughter's boys murdered
William Beeler, the brave officer who had trailed "Kid"
Curry and his gang to Baggs, Wyoming, the spring
previous. The two seventeen-year-old boys murdered
Beeler in revenge for the killing of Monte Slaughter not
long before.
From here I drifted south to the American Valley
ranch, where my friend W. J. C. Moore, the outlaw cow
boy whom I saw in Juneau, Alaska, killed two men,
which set him adrift with a big reward on his head.
From American Valley I rode south to Luna Valley
and made the acquaintance of many tough characters.
Here I made a confidant of a ranchman by the name
of James G. Smith, and found out that he had known me
in Texas years before. He gave me valuable informa
tion about the "Wild Bunch," and his good wife filled
me up on civilized food.
Finally I reached the sleepy little town of Alma, New
Mexico, and my thousand-mile horseback journey was
ended.
The town of Alma supported one store and one saloon,
both being well patronized by the wild and wooly pop
ulation thinly scattered over the surrounding country.
23
354 TA COWWOY DETECTIVE.
I started in to make myself "solid" with the tough
element of the district, so as to find out more about the
"Wild Bunch" and as to who passed a lot of that un
signed money stolen in the Silcox, Wyoming, train hold
up. This stolen money had been passed in Alma a few
months after the train holdup, and when the matter leaked
out Asst. Supt. "Rank" Curran, of our Denver office, was
sent there to investigate. There being no deputy sheriffs
in this western part of Socorro county, it being about 120
miles from the county seat of Socorro on the Rio Grande
river, Mr. Curran had no. local officers to assist him. I
was told that the sheriff couldn't get a man to accept
the deputyship in the western part of this county, as it
was .too tough and dangerous, being overrun with out
laws and desperados.
Mr. Curran had to take someone into his confidence,
so he used bad judgment by selecting the two leading
business men and citizens of Alma. One of these was
the storekeeper and the other the saloon proprietor, Jim
Lowe. Of course Curran went into detail of how he
was on a hot trail of the Union Pacific train robbers who
had passed some of the stolen money in Alma. This
was enough. That night Mr. Curran was driven out of
town and would have been killed had it not been for
saloonman Jim Lowe.
Curran was not a western man, he having formerly
been Superintendent of our Chicago office before being
taken down with that dread disease, consumption, and
coming to Denver for his health. Hence he was glad
to get out of Alma alive, and of course he naturally felt
grateful to Jim Lowe.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 355
After getting in with the tough gang, I learned the
truth of how Jim Lowe saved Murray's life, and how
next morning Lowe sold his saloon and "hit the trail"
with outlaw "Red" Weaver, for "tall timber ;" that Jim
Lowe was none other than the notorious "Butch" Casi-
day of the "Kid" Curry gang.
Among the men whose friendship I made was Jesse
Black, one of Jim Lowe's warmest friends, who had fig
ured in the raid on Frank Murray. He was considered
a hard case, but no one seemed to know who he was or
where he came from.
Part of my time was spent out in the mountains in the
Mogollon mining camp and at the mining town of
Graham, where there was a gold mill; also at the cattle
town of Frisco, near the Arizona line.
In Frisco I got in with a bronco-buster and "bad"
man, who told me the spot in the mountains, about forty
miles southwest, where Jim Lowe had established a
"Robbers' Roost" or rendezvous, and at that very time
was there with eight outlaw companions, but who these
companions were he didn't know, as they were from the
north. He was only acquainted with Jim Lowe. He
pointed out the particular mountain in the distance where
they were camped, and getting ready for some kind of a
raid. This bronco-buster had been to their camp lately.
On learning of this, I at once wrote to Asst. Supt.
Curran, telling him of Jim Lowe's rendezvous and of my
plans to visit their camp and try to get in with the gang.
Soon I received a reply by mail saying that I was mis
taken about Jim Lowe being "Butch" Casiday, as he
("Rank" Curran) had met Lowe and found him to be a
356 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
nice gentleman. In the letter he instructed me to sell my
horses and return to Denver as he wanted me to join a
tough gang in western Colorado and southern Wyoming,
who stood in with the "Wild Bunch."
So this ended my work in Alma during the late spring.
Putting a stop to my visiting Jim Lowe and his gang
may have been a godsend, as they might have killed
me; but still, it may have terminated in the killing or
capture of the whole bunch.
After selling my horses in the Mogollon mining camp
I boarded the stagecoach for Silver City, the county seat
of Grant county, New Mexico, a distance of about eighty
miles to the southward, this being the nearest railroad.
Blake Graham, a warm friend of Jim Lowe, was a
passenger on the stage with me. We had a good supply
of liquor along and he told me the whole secret of Jim
Lowe being "Butch" Casiday. He told of how when
Asst. Supt. Murray was run out of Alma, Jim Lowe sold
his saloon and skipped; that he (Blake Graham) rode
several miles with Lowe and "Red" Weaver when they
were leaving, and of how Lowe said he didn't have the
heart to see Frank Murray killed, and for that reason
he helped get him out of town in the night.
This outlaw "Red" Weaver was killed in a pistol duel
with Jim Hollman in the street of Alma just before my
arrival.
The driver of the stagecoach was Bill Kelly, who
claimed to be the original "L. S. Kid" of the Panhandle,
Texas. I had known the "L. S. Kid" as s. wild smooth-
face boy, hence Kelly and I became quite "chummy."
Young Graham and I and the two traveling men aboard
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 357
kept Kelly loaded with liquor so that he would make
good time, and amuse us with his western songs. He
claimed to have originated one of these songs while
a cowboy in the Panhandle, Texas, and he sang it half a
dozen times en route. It had a lovely tune and seemed
to strike me just right. It ran thus :
My lover is a cowboy,
He's kind, he's brave and true;
He rides the Spanish pony
And throws the lasso, too;
And when he comes to see me
And our vows we have redeemed,
He puts his arms around me
And then begins to sing:
CHORUS :
Oh, I am a jolly cowboy,
From Texas now I hail,
Give me my saddle and pony
And I'm ready for the trail.
I love the rolling prairie
Where we are free from care and strife,
And behind a herd of long-horns,
I will journey all my life.
We rise up in the morning
At the early dawn of day,
We vault into the saddle
And quickly ride away.
We rope, brand and ear-mark,
I tell you what, we're smart,
We get the herd all ready
For Kansas, then, we start.
Chorus.
When lowering clouds do gather
And livid lightnings flash,
And crashing thunder rattles
And heavy rain-drops splash.
358 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
What keeps the herd from roaming
And stampeding far and wide?
'Tis the cowboy's long, low whistle
And singing by their side.
Chorus.
And when in Kansas City
The boss he pays us up,
We loaf around a few days,
We have a parting cup.
We bid farewell to city,
From noisy marts we come
Right back to dear old Texas
The cowboys' native home.
Before reaching Silver City about night, the liquor be
gan to work. Then Graham and I pulled our pistols and
emptied them through the canvas-covered top of the
stagecoach. This set fire to the canvas top and the wind
carried the fire to my roll of bedding in the rear ; then we
all became fire-fighters. We drove into Silver City with
out a buggy-top and the liquor all gone.
As my daughter Viola lived in Silver City with her
aunt and uncle. Mr and Mrs. Will F. Read, I laid over
the next day to visit them. Viola had grown to be a
pretty young lady and was just finishing her education
in the Territorial Normal College in Silver City.
I also visited with my old White Oaks (N. M.) friend,
Jim Brent, who was now City Marshal of this town;
also with Sheriff Goodall and ex- Sheriff J. K. Blair, both
model officers.
I then boarded a train for Denver, stopping off in
Santa Fe one day to visit my pets.
On arriving in Denver, Asst. Supt. Curran sent me
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 359
at once to Grand Junction in the western part of Colo
rado, there to purchase a horse and locate one Jim F.
who had been run out of Dixon, Wyoming, by the
vigilantes, as he was known to be in with the "Wild
Bunch." It was reported that he had taken his family
and settled somewhere near Grand Junction.
I finally located Jim F. through my friend Sheriff
Charlie Wallis. He had bought a small patch of land in
an out-of-the-way place on Grand River near Palisade,
twenty miles above Grand Junction, and lived there with
his young w-ife and two pretty little girls.
After much planning and scheming I got in "solid"
with Jim F., although he had received a letter of warn
ing from his friend Tom T., in Dixon, Wyoming, to the
effect that the Union Pacific Railroad Company had a
Dickenson detective on his trail. I brought him this let
ter from Palisade, as he had given me orders to get his
mail. On reading it he swore the most wicked oaths
against all detectives and swore to cut out the heart of
any detective who undertook to win his friendship. He
let me read the letter.
I had been cautioned to watch Jim F. as he was a
wicked fellow and would kill a man without mercy. He
had cut his own brother-in-law's throat in a fit of anger,
and he had once served a term in the South Dakota
penitentiary, while his brother Charlie, whose friendship
I won later, was an ex-convict from Utah.
To show what a temper Jim F. had, I will cite a case
wherein he came very near drowning his own child
while sitting at the dinner table. The door was open
and a swift irrigation ditch full of water flowed by the
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
door. The eldest girl, eight years old, cried for more
fish when there was none left. Jim grabbed the child
and threw her with all the force of his makeup, — he be
ing nearly six feet tall, 190 pounds in weight and thirty-
two years of age, — into the irrigation ditch. It was only
a few hundred yards to the treacherous Grand River,
and Jim had to run fast to catch the half drowned girl
before she reached the river. Of course this broke the
child of wanting fish after it was all eaten.
Jim F. and I became fast friends after he had seen
the newspaper accounts of my shooting scrape in south
ern New Mexico, and of my being an outlaw who was
badly wanted by the officers of Grant county, New Mex
ico. Of course I had these accounts put into the papers
and marked copies sent to me.
I was going by the name of Lee Roy Davis. The
Palisade paper once referred to me as "mysterious white-
horse Davis," my saddle horse being white.
During the month of August, Jim F. and I pulled out
for "tall timber." We put in a couple of weeks at the
head of White River above Meeker. We lived on ven
ison and fish and camped out alone. From here we
drifted to Hayden, Colo., where Jim F. had friends;
thence to Dixon, Wyo., to show Bob Meldrum the "man-
killer" town marshal and the vigilantes, that Jim F. was
not afraid to come back. I had promised to help fight
his battles, and we came within an ace of having a shoot
ing scrape with Bob Meldrum on reaching Dixon.
To recite how Jim F. and an ex-convict friend of his
by the name of Ed. Muirr made the blood flow one night
when they beat up and robbed a gang of telephone com-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 361
pany workmen who had been paid off, would take up
too much space. I didn't care to take a hand in the rob
bery. Still, I got $60.00 of the tainted money from Jim
F. in payment for a loan made in Meeker.
On the Snake River, above Dixon, at the foot of Black
Mountain, is where Jim F. lived on his ranch when run
out of the country by the Cattle Association, as it was
known that he was a cattle rustler and used his ranch for
a rendezvous for tough characters.
It was at this Black Mountain ranch that Jim F. fur
nished horses and grub to "Kid" Curry and his gang
when they started out to rob the Union Pacific train at
Tipton, Wyo., about 100 miles north, the fall previous,
and after the robbery Jim F. kept them hid on Black
Mountain until the officers quit searching for them. I
was shown the exact spot where they camped high up
on the timbered mountain. Here Jim F. carried grub
to them and kept them posted as to the movements of the
officers. From him I learned that "Kid" Curry, Bill
Cruzan and the "Tall Texan," whose right name was
Kilpatrick, held up the train at Tipton, Wyo. And I
found out that after leaving the Black Mountain they
drifted south to the Blue Mountains in Utah, thence fur
ther south into New Mexico. But before reaching Utah,
Bill Cruzan turned back on his mule and later was met
by Bert C. south of Grand Junction, Colo. Bert C,
Jim F. said, was a go-between and kept the "Wild
Bunch" posted by getting mail or word to them.
Jim F. also gave me the secrets of the Silcox, Wyo.,
train holdup, and many other noted cases. Also told
how he assisted in a bank robbery in Nebraska, and of
362 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
his many cattle stealing and fighting scrapes in the Black
Hills of Dakota.
Jim F. and I were fixing to pull out of Dixon and go
to Rawlins to meet friends of Jim F's, when Ellis, a
merchant of Dixon, called Jim to the rear of his store
and advised him not to go to the Union Pacific Railroad
as Pinkerton detectives were on his trail and would ar
rest him. At this Jim F. concluded to "hit" the road
back to Grand Junction, Colo. He sold me his pack-
horse and outfit and gave me a letter of introduction to
his friend Jack R. who stood in with the "Wild Bunch,"
and who had two saloons in Rawlins, Wyo.
On leaving the Grand River at Jim F's home, my
name had been changed to Harry Blevins, so that the
New Mexico officers couldn't get track of me. Jim F.
selected my new name, and in this name he gave me
the letter of introduction which was short and to the
point. It merely stated: "This will introduce to you
my friend Harry Blevins. He is righter than hell."
Among the "Wild Bunch," "right" meant that a man is
all right and can be trusted.
After seeing Jim F. off and headed south for Colo
rado, I pulled out for the north. I put up one night at
the Twenty-mile ranch owned by Jim H., a friend to
Jim F. and the "Wild Bunch." He was a wealthy stock
man and had furnished one of the horses to "Kid" Curry
for the Tipton train holdup. I let him read the letter
to Jack R. and he told me to come to him and he would
find me a hiding place should the officers ever get on my
trail. He told me about the Tipton and Silcox robber
ies and said he had helped "Kid" Curry out more than
once.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 363
I arrived in the hurrah little city of Rawlins, where
half the men are railroad employes and the other half,
with the exception of the gamblers and saloon men,
smell sheepy. Even the cattlemen get to smelling like
sheep from the constant chasing of sheep off their
ranges. Rawlins is the center of a great sheep country.
Jack R. welcomed me with open arms on the strength
of Jim F's letter, and it wasn't long until he told me of
the "Wild Bunch" and their doings. He had made his
first stake through "Butch" Casiday and his gang, after
they robbed the Montpelier, Idaho, bank out of about
$30,000 in gold. At that time Jack R. owned a small
saloon in Baggs, on Snake River near Dixon. The gang
was headed for the "Robbers' Roost" in southern Utah
and stopped over a few days to rest in Baggs, and while
there they threw enough twenty dollar gold pieces over
Jack R's bar to give him a stake, so that he could open
a good saloon in Rawlins. Jack R. told of how "Butch"
would shoot an old widow's chickens just to hear her
swear. Then he would have the old lady smiling by giv
ing her a twenty dollar gold piece for every chicken
killed.
During the winter in and around Rawlins, I led a hur
rah drinking life, and made friends among the tough
element. Among those met was Bert C, virtually one of
the "Wild Bunch," but who was slick enough to keep
out of the law's clutches. His home was in Grand
Junction, Colo. He and I became "chummy," but he
kept his secrets to himself. He was noted for being
"close-mouthed" and no doubt that is why "Kid" Curry
and the "Wild Bunch" put such confidence in him. But
364 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
I played my cards so as to open Bert C's mouth and get
his secrets.
In the Spring he and I went to Grand Junction, Colo.,
where we hobnobbed with his tough cowboy friends.
Among them was our friend Jim F.
During the summer Bert C. and I rode from Grand
Junction to Rawlins, a distance of about 300 miles, on
horseback.
While in Grand Junction, I received a fake letter from
my supposed attorney, Ex-Governor L. Bradford Prince,
requesting that I come to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and
sign some papers in order that certain property could
be sold. This letter was on Attorney Prince's letter
head and looked genuine.
Jim F. asked me to visit his friend Bob McGinnis in
the Santa Fe penitentiary, and if I got a chance to give
him a "Wild Bunch" cipher code, so that they could
communicate with each other through the mail. The code
was each fourth word, in a friendly letter on general
news ; that is, each fourth word to be written down which
would convey the secret. And I was instructed to tell
Bob McGinnis to hold a stiff upper lip, as his friends
would bribe the officials of New Mexico and have him
out before many years.
Jim F. and Bert C. had told me confidentially who Bob
McGinnis was, that he was a Utah chum of "Butch" Cas-
iday's, whose right name was Elza Lay. This was a
secret which hadn't yet leaked out.
Jim F. gave me certain words to say to Bob McGinnis
which would convince him that I was all right. He and
Jim F. had been in the cattle stealing business together
several years previous.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 365
In Santa Fe, New Mexico, I took Ex-Governor Prince,
Attorney General E. L. Bartlett, and Warden H. O. Bur-
som, of the penitentiary, into my confidence, so that I
got to visit McGinnis and gave him Jim F.'s secrets.
I found McGinnis to be a pleasant fellow, but a hard
looking "mug." He acted as though he felt that a job
was being put up on him when the guard was called
away for a few minutes. It was then that I imparted
the secrets to him.
Bob McGinnis was one of "Black Jack's" gang and
helped kill my warm friend Ed. Farr, sheriff of Huer-
fano County, Colo., also Ed. Farr's deputy, Mr. Love.
In this fight Bob McGinnis was shot three or four times
through the body and then made his "get away." Sev
eral months later he had a hand to hand fight with the
sheriff of Eddy county, New Mexico, and shot two offi
cers before being overpowered and captured. He had
just recovered from his previous wounds. He and
"Franks" were camped out in the sand hills east of the
Pecos River, when the sheriff and his posse surprised
them. "Franks" made his "getaway."
McGinnis was tried for the killing of Sheriff Farr and
his deputy, Love, after robbing a Denver & Ft. Worth
train. He received a life sentence in the penitentiary at
Santa Fe.
About the time of my visit with Bob McGinnis in the
Santa Fe pen "Butch" Casiday, Bill Carver and Harry
Longbough robbed the Winnamuca, Nev., bank and se
cured $30,000 in gold. It was plain to me now, that
some of this money would be used to free McGinnis
from prison.
366 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
On rejoining Jim F. in Palisade, Colo., I gave him a
hair bridle and steel bit made by Bob McGinnis, the bit
being made from old files, as McGinnis had learned to
be a blacksmith and electrician. I had also brought from
the Santa Fe pen a hair bridle and bit for my own use.
This is now kept as a relic.
It was early summer when Bert C. and I started, in
company with his young brother, across country for
Rawlins, Wyo. We each had a saddle horse and I had
a pack animal to carry the grub and bedding.
On reaching the Green Cattle Company's headquarters
ranch on the edge of Wyoming, we learned of the Den
ver & Rio Grande train holdup east of Grand Junction,
and from now on we were suspected of having had a
hand in the holdup. Bert C. gave me to understand that
Bill Cruzan was in this last holdup. It seems that Bert
knew it was billed to come off.
Before reaching Dixon, Wyo., we met many of Bert
C's and Jim F's tough chums.
In Dixon, Bert C. got a tip from someone, whom I
suspected to be merchant Ellis — knowing that he had
given Jim F. a friendly tip — that the Dickenson agency
had a cowboy detective by the name of Charlie Siringo
working in with the "Wild Bunch," so as to get their
secrets. This worried Bert and he became sullen for
awhile, as though suspicious of me. He questioned me
as to whether I had ever heard of Charlie Siringo. Of
course I hadn't. I felt confident that Ellis had gotten
the secret from either Asst. Supt. Goddil or Curran, as
they had told me of what a fine man he was and how
he could be trusted with any secret. This goes to prove
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 367
that it is unsafe for a detective to trust his life in the
hands of any man, and this very knowledge is the cause
of much sweating of blood by detectives.
'From Dixon, Bert C. and I visited Baggs, where his
sweetheart, Miss Maud, a respectable girl, lived. We
remained in this little hurrah town a few days drinking
and visiting with Bert's friends.
Bert C. had, previous to our arrival in Dixon, given
me many secrets of the "Wild Bunch." He told of how
they kept a system of blind post offices all the way from
the Hole-in-the-Wall in northern Wyoming to Alma in
southern New Mexico, these post offices being in rocky
crevices or on top of round mounds on the desert. In
passing these post offices he said members of the "Wild
Bunch," who were on the inside, would look for mail or
deposit notes of importance. Also late news of interest
would be clipped from newspapers and deposited in the
post office by passing members.
Bert C. also told me the whole secret of "Butch" Cas-
iday's "getaway" from Alma, New Mexico, when he ran
a saloon there under the name of Jim Lowe. He told
of how a Dickenson detective named "Rank" Curran came
there in search of the men who had passed some of the
stolen unsigned bills from the Wilcox train holdup, and
that "Butch" Casiday happened to be the man who had
passed these bills; that after the gang had run Murray
out of the country "Butch" sold his saloon, and in com
pany with outlaw "Red" Weaver, drifted west to the
Arizona line to join "Kid" Curry and his gang. He told
of how "Butch" and "Red" Weaver were waylaid and
captured by William Beeler's posse who were on trail of
368 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
"Kid" Curry and gang, they being headed north after
committing bloody crimes, but that in the night "Butch"
made his "getaway" from the officers on a bareback
horse, without firearms or grub; that in riding north,
"Butch" overtook the "Kid" Curry gang, and thinking
them officers of the law he kept out of sight by hiding
in daylight and riding in the night, but when he came to
one of their blind post offices he found news which con
vinced him that he had been hiding from friends, with
nothing to eat but crackers.
On reaching Baggs, Wyo., "Butch" was kept hid by
"Mid" Nichols (brother to my friend Tom Hall) in his
residence. "Mid" then owned a saloon in Baggs.
Finally Beeler and his Arizona posse arrived in Baggs
and took "Mid" Nichols into their confidence, telling him
of how they were on the trail of the "Kid" Curry gang.
That night "Butch" left the Nichols home riding a
good horse and saddle and armed to the teeth. He had
to cross a bridge where two of Beeler's men were on
guard. They supposed he was a rancher leaving town,
and gave him a friendly salute.
"Butch" then remained hidden in the mountains near
by until the Beeler posse left Baggs. Mrs. "Mid" Nich
ols kept "Butch" supplied with grub and liquor, as she
was in the habit of taking a horseback ride every day
for exercise.
On reaching Rawlins, Bert C. and I boarded a train for
Wolcott, there to meet Jack R., "Chip" Reed, and other
friends. Jack R. also owned a saloon in Wolcott. From
Wolcott we all returned to Rawlins. Then champagne
corks flew thick and fast for several days — then several
days of agonizing headaches.
369
One of the "Wild Bunch" secrets given me by Bert
C. disclosed the fact that my friend Jesse Black, of Alma,
New Mexico, was a hard "hombre" whose right name
was Byron Sessions. He had been brought up in Utah and
went to New Mexico with "Butch" Casiday after the
Montpelier, Idaho, bank robbery.
I spent the whole fall in and around Rawlins and had
the pleasure of riding "Butch" Casiday's pet mule "Ikey."
I had gone with Jack R. on a wild horse hunt into the
Haystack Mountains, where Jack R. kept a hired ma^n
and a pile of grub to feed the "Wild Bunch" when pass
ing through the country. On his last visit here, after
our Asst. Supt. Frank Murray had scared him out of
Alma, New Mexico, "Butch" had left "Ikey" to be cared
for by Jack R. I found "Ikey" to be a "peach" of a
mule, easy riding and as limber as a cat, and he could
run like a scared wolf. But he had one fault — he was
afraid of shooting. He left me on the desert once afoot,
when I got down to shoot at game.
On this trip Jack R. showed me outlaw Bill Cruzan's
rendezvous, a rock cabin built high up in the bluffs over
looking the Laramie River, but I found out that Bill Cru-
zan had quit living here since the Dickenson agency had
got on his trail for the Tipton train holdup ; that now he
kept moving from place to place, since "Kid" Curry
had given him the shake.
During the summer "Kid" Curry and his gang had
robbed a Great Northern railroad train up in Montana,
securing a large sum of new unsigned U. S. Government
bills, and I found out that "Kid" Curry had been in Raw
lins where he met Jack R. and Jim H. of the Twenty-
mile ranch.
24
370 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
The Dickenson agency was employed to run down
these West-Northern train holdups, and, of course, all
the information secured by me was used in tracing up
the robbers.
Finally, during the fall, the "Tall Texan" (Kilpatrick),
who was with "Kid" Curry when I trailed him into the
Blue Mountains, and who assisted in the Tipton, Wyo.,
Union Pacific train holdup, was arrested in St. Louis,
Mo., along with "Kid" Curry's sweetheart. "Kid" Curry
and one of his chums made their "getaway" and Curry
came direct to Rawlins to dig up some of the stolen
Great Northern money which he had cached on Jim H's
Twenty-mile ranch. He wanted this money to hire law
yers to defend his sweetheart, who had been passing some
of the stolen bills in St. Louis.
"Kid" Curry only remained in the vicinity of Rawlins
two days. He then boarded a train for the east. I
didn't know of his being in Rawlins until two days after
he had gone. Then I got the secret from Jack R. and
Sid. J. The latter told of how "Kid" Curry had seen
me in a saloon one night when he was watching the
crowd through the rear door. He singled me out as a
suspect, saying that I looked too bright and wide-awake
for a common rounder; but Sid. J. assured him that I
was all right, though "Kid" Curry wouldn't believe it
until told so by Jack R. They called Jack R. out of his
saloon into the alley. Then Sid. J. said he asked Jack
R. if Harry Blevins was "right ;" that Jack replied "yes."
Then "Kid" Curry was satisfied. I considered it quite
a compliment to be called bright by such a wide-awake
judge.
"Kio" CURRY AND His SWEETHEART.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 371
But poor "Kid" Curry ran up against a live issue on
this trip east. In Knoxville, Tenn., he was arrested af
ter shooting two officers. He finally had a trial in the
United States Court, for passing money stolen in the
Great Northern train holdup. He was convicted on sev
eral different counts and was sentenced to the pen for a
total of 130 years, so it was said.
During the trial I was told that my friend Jim T.
of the Little Rockies in Montana, was on hand with a
good supply of the "long-green" which makes the mare
go. The result was that "Kid" Curry made his "get
away" from the high sheriff before reaching the peni
tentiary walls, and the supposition is that the aforesaid
"long-green" and Jim T. were the lifting powers which
placed the "Kid" on the smooth road of freedom.
The sheriff was arrested for liberating the "Kid," as
it was said he received the snug sum of $8,000.00 for
being asleep at the proper time. But I never heard how
this honorable official got out of the scrape. The chances
are though, that he had to use some of his tainted money
to get himself out of the law's clutches.
Kilpatrick, the "Tall Texan," received a sentence of
15 years in the pen, and "Kid" Curry's sweetheart got a
long sentence behind prison walls.
Early in the spring another one of the "Wild Bunch,"
Bill Carver, was killed in Texas while trying to make
his escape. Bert C informed me confidentially, that Bill
Carver was the notorious "Franks" of "Black Jack"
fame.
I put in a lively fall in Rawlins and the towns adjoin
ing, including Grand Encampment, the big mining camp,
373 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and I drank poison liquor enough, against my will, to
kill a mule.
In Rawlins I was considered an ex-outlaw, though no
one but my friends knew where I came from. Sheriff
McDaniels wrote a full description of me to the Dicken-
son officials in Denver, and in the letter he said I was
the toughest looking fellow he had ever seen, and he
knew that I must be an outlaw from the way I stood in
with Bert C., Jack R. and their gang. McDaniels even
went to Denver and had Asst. Supt. Curran look into
my case to see if something couldn't be dug up against
me, but Mr. Curran couldn't find any one in the agency's
rogue's gallery who would fit my complexion.
During the fall I was arrested in Rawlins and paid a
$20 fine for carrying a pistol. Judge Smith gave me the
full extent of the law on the strength of my tough look
ing face and the company which I kept.
There was a big machinists' and boiler-makers' strike
under headway on the Union Pacific railroad, and Raw
lins was the hot-bed of slugging matches on "scabs," and
of course, I was in a position to give valuable tips on the
matter in my reports. My friends, the city marshal and
his policemen, all stood in with the union sluggers.
Among my friends who stood in with the "Wild
Bunch" gang was Charlie I., a saloon man of Ft. Steel,
Wyo. As boys, he and I had run cattle together in the
Panhandle of Texas. He would have known me had I
been going under my own name.
Another tough "hombre" whom I knew in Caldwell,
Kans., when he was a wild and woolly cowboy there, was
Newt. Kelly, the man who stabbed my friend Tim Corn
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 373
to the point of death in Baggs, Wyo. Once when drunk
he felt sure that he had seen me in the Indian Territory
or Kansas, but I made him forget the idea.
Early in the winter U. S. Deputy Marshal Joe LaFors
came to Rawlins and Jack R. asked if he knew a Dicken-
son detective by the name of Charlie Siringo. Not know
ing that I was in the country, LaFors replied "Yes," and
described me to a dot. Later Jack R. introduced us.
We pretended to never have met before, and LaFors in
sisted to Jack R. privately, that I was not Charlie Sir
ingo, although the same size and complexion, etc. La
Fors and I met to talk the matter over later.
I could see a coolness on the part of Bert C. and Jack
R. which showed that they were suspicious of me, al
though they tried to hide their true feeling.
A couple of days later I boarded a train for Salt Lake
City, Utah, thence to join my friend Jim F. in Palisade,
Colo. My horse was put in a pasture in the Ferris Moun
tains, and my saddle and camp outfit were stored in Jack
R's saloon to show that I intended coming back. Several
years later Joe LaFors found out that Bert C. had left
the country with my saddle and outfit and that my horse
was killed and used for wolf bait in poisoning wolves.
After visiting a week with Jim F. in Palisade, I
started for the Big Horn Basin in the vicinity of the
Hole-in-the-Wall in northern Wyoming. I had re
ceived instructions from Asst. Supt. Curran to go up
there and get in with friends of the "Wild Bunch," and
learn their secrets.
In order to reach the Big Horn Basin and the Wind
River country I had to go by rail through Denver, Colo.,
374 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and Sidney, Neb., thence to Cody, Wyo., at the edge of
Yellowstone Park, thence by stage coach 100 miles south
to Thermopolis, Wyo. Thermopolis I found to be a
small town with the largest hot water springs in the
United States. Her hope for the future was also large.
Here I registered at the Keystone hotel under a new
name — Chas. Tony Lloyd — so that my associates further
south wouldn't learn of my being here.
The Keystone hotel was run by an ex-cowboy, Emory,
who was friendly with all the tough characters in the
surrounding country, therefore I courted his friendship
and led him to believe that I was a hard case. Mr.
Emory was a law-abiding citizen himself, but having been
a cowboy he naturally sympathized with other cowboys
and cattlemen who were in trouble. In fact, I found the
general sentiment here to be on the side of the "Wild
Bunch" and their class. Those who didn't sympathize
with them didn't dare express themselves; that is, with
the exception of a few men, among whom was a Dr.
Hale and an ex-deputy sheriff by the name of Cam
eron. But the latter had been put out of business a
few weeks previous to my arrival. He now lay at the
Keystone hotel shot full of holes and at the point of
death. He had been shot by Fred Sted, a young tough.
Cameron was the worst shot up man, to be alive, that I
had ever seen. He was shot in different places through
the arms and body with soft-nose Winchester rifle bul
lets, which generally tear a hole big enough for a cat
to crawl through. He finally recovered though, but was
disfigured and crippled for life.
In Thermopolis and the surrounding mountains, I put
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 375
in the winter and made friends with all the hard cases,
among whom were Fred Sted, the fellow who shot Cam
eron, Jim McCloud, an ex-convict who escaped from the
Leavenworth, Kan., penitentiary, and Tom O'Day, one
of the original members of the "Wild Bunch," who had
helped "Kid" Curry and his gang rob a Belle Fourche,
S. D., bank, besides many other crimes.
I also made friends with Mike B., a well-to-do cattle
man who stood in with the "Wild Bunch," by furnishing
them grub, horses and money, and going on their bonds
when in trouble. He had gone on Fred Sted's bond for
the shooting of Cameron, and before the trial came off,
Sted jumped his bond and "hit the road" for "tall tim
ber." He waited until green grass came in the spring,
of course.
Tom O'Day hung out at Lost Cabin, about 20 miles
out in the mountains, while Jim McCloud made his head
quarters with ex-convict Shaffer and a bad "hombre" by
the name of Frank James at the Mike B. cattle ranch a
few miles down the Big Horn River. Before the winter
was half over, I had become "chummy" with O'Day
and McCloud.
One morning O'Day came to town and we met in
Skinner's saloon. As O'Day was hungry he sat at a
table with Fred Sted in the rear of the saloon, where
there was a restaurant, to eat a lunch. Before doing
so he unbuckled his big Colts 45 and belt of cartridges
from his waist and gave them to the bar-keeper to lay
behind the bar. After he had sat down to eat, an enemy
walked up in front of him and pulling a pistol shot six
times at O'Day's head, but the fellow was excited and
376 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
didn't take time to aim. Each bullet went over O'Day's
head, just missing him by a scratch. After the pistol
was empty the fellow broke to run out of the door. As
he did so O'Day threw his coffee cup at him with such
force that it struck the door knob, shattering it into a
hundred fragments. Then O'Day put on his pistol and
swore he wouldn't be so foolish as to play law-abiding
citizen by putting it behind the bar again.
This excitement started O'Day to getting drunk earlier
than usual, and of course, I joined him. At the Beals
bath house, where we had gone with a crowd, tougher
than ourselves, we came very near getting into a pistol
war with the Beals family, who ran a respectable place.
We ran the place to suit ourselves, and I had to endure
the agony of hearing O'Day call Mrs. Beals all the foul
names in the cowboy language, and furthermore, I had
to tell the good lady to keep her mouth shut and to keep
her hubby hid out if she didn't want to become a widow.
O'Day and I had agreed to paint the town red and
stick to each other in spite of hades and high water,
hence I couldn't follow the dictates of my conscience, as
that wouldn't be business. Of course, if it had come to
a matter of saving the life of a good citizen, business
wouldn't have been considered.
It was 3 o'clock next morning when O'Day became too
drunk to navigate. Then we retired to our virtuous
couches.
For several days after, I received lectures from the
preacher and two civilized school mar'ms who boarded
at the Keystone hotel. They thought it a shame that a
man like me should throw himself away by associating
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 377
with such men as O'Day and his lewd female companions.
These good people had been trying to reform me ever
since my arrival, and this last carouse seemed to be the
straw which broke the camel's back, hence the lectures.
Of course, these were bitter pills for me to swallow, but
I had to gulp them down as though they were sweet, for
it wouldn't be policy to make a face showing they were
bitter, for fear of offending O'Day and his gang, should
they hear of it.
This hurrah life was kept up until late in the spring,
when I shook the dust of the Big Horn Basin from my
feet. I hadn't been gone very long when my chums,
O'Day and McCloud, were arrested for holding up a
stage coach and stealing a bunch of horses.
While awaiting trial in the Cheyenne City prison, Jim
McCloud and the noted stock detective, Tim Corn,
broke jail, but both were captured before getting out of
the city, and soon after Corn was hung. Both Mc
Cloud and O'Day were sent to the Wyoming penitentiary
for six years each. My friend, Joe LaFors, helped to
land them in prison, where they both belonged. Of
corrse, it was tough on me to thus lose two dear "chums."
Having finished my work in Wyoming, I was hurried
to Arizona to find out the whereabouts of a certain "bad"
man, who was supposed to be in with the "Wild Bunch,"
so that our agency could keep track of his movements.
I had nothing to work on but the fact that he was getting
mail at Flagstaff, Ariz.
From the postmaster in Flagstaff, I found out that
this "bad" man had left for parts unknown and left in
structions that his mail be forwarded to Gunnison, Colo.
378 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
I had also been instructed to locate a brother-in-law
of the late outlaw, Bill Carver, alias Franks, and get
some secrets from him.
A trip to Phoenix, thence to Douglas on the Mexican
border, put me on trail of my man. I had found my old
cowboy chum, Jim East, in Douglas, and he assisted me.
Up in the mountains near Rodeo I found Bill Carver's
brother-in-law, and got all the information wanted. Then
I made a little jump of over 1,000 miles to Gunnison,
Colo. Here I located a sister of my "bad" man. She
had a pretty i8-year-old daughter whom I had to fall in
love with, in order to find out the whereabouts of her
"bad" uncle. For about two weeks I did some swift
courting and learned new lessons in human nature, and
the power of wealth.
I had made a confidant of Mr. George Holmes and his
lovely wife, who owned a large store in Gunnison. They
introduced me into the upper crust of Gunnison society,
so that I could take my girl to the club dances, and Mr.
Holmes gave the young lady a tip that I was a wealthy
timber man. That settled it ; she did the courting after
that. She actually proposed to me one night when we
were out buggy riding. If I blushed she couldn't see it
as the night was very dark. Of course, I tried to reason
with this tender bud by telling her that I was too old to
marry a young creature like herself, but she argued that
age "cut no ice" where there is love and plenty of money
to keep the pot boiling. I managed to put off the wed
ding until I could give the matter mature thought, and in
the meantime I advised her to figure out about how much
she would need for a swell wedding gown with the nee-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 379
essary trimmings. She thought $250.00 would cover the
bill nicely.
After getting the information wanted, I cut my sus
penders and went straight up, so far as the poor girl was
concerned. But in reality my confidants, Mr. and Mrs.
Holmes and Sheriff Watson, were bade goodby. Then
the train carried me home.
On reaching Denver, I closed the Union Pacific train
robbery case after having traveled more than 25,000 miles
by rail, vehicles, afoot and on horseback, and after being
on the operation constantly for about four years.
The "Wild Bunch" during these four years were
pretty well scattered, many being put in their graves and
others in prison. The only two really "bad" ones who es
caped were "Butch" Casiday and Harry Longbough.
But through my work on Jim F. we found out for the
first time who Longbough was, and where his relatives
live. Jim F. had first known him as the "Sundance Kid"
up in northern Wyoming.
And "Butch" Casiday would no doubt have been
caught had my hands not been tied by Asst. Supt.
Curran, who insisted that he was not Jim Lowe, whose
rendezvous I wanted to visit; but before his death Mr.
Curran acknowledged his mistake. Also Mr. W. L.
Dickenson confessed to me that there was no further
doubt about "Butch" Casiday and Jim Lowe being one
and the same person.
And if Sayles and I had been allowed to use our own
judgment in hurrying to Dandy Crossing instead of go
ing to Ft. Duchesne, matters might have taken a different
turn, although it might have caused one or both of us
being planted on a Utah desert.
380
A COWBOY DETECTIVE
During these four years of strenuous life along the
West-Pacific Railroad lines, I secured much valuable in
formation for the Dickenson agency. That is, informa
tion not connected with train holdups, the agency hav
ing a system wherein matters of importance are put on
record, for immediate or future reference.
CHAPTER XVI.
A BIG RAILROAD STEALING CASE IN TEXAS AND OLD
MEXICO — A BULLION STEALING OPERATION IN SALT
LAKE, UTAH.
On returning to Denver, I was hardly allowed time to
get my breath, when Supt. J. S. Kaiser detailed me on
a railroad case which had been awaiting my return.
I was told that Mr. W. L. Dickenson, of Chicago, had
been holding this operation for me, as the work was for
one of his personal friends and one of the agency's best
clients. Therefore I was advised to do my best.
The work lay in Texas and Old Mexico, and the gen
eral manager of the big railway system was not to know
of the operation as the object was to get at the bottom
of big steals and crookedness.
I landed in a twin city on the Texas-Mexico border
with my saddle and cowboy outfit, and pretended to be
a horse buyer. In the course of a few weeks I had
made myself solid with the brother of the railway man
ager. He was a high Mason and a swell sport. He
stood at the top notch for honesty and business ability.
He was a fine looking, large man of middle age.
During the progress of this operation I made two
trips into San Antonio, Tex. On the first visit to the
Alamo City, I was taught a new lesson in how clothes
really do make the man.
I made the trip from Old Mexico to San Antonio in
381
382 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
rough cowboy clothes. It was late Saturday night when
I arrived, so that I couldn't buy clean clothes. Next day
being the Sabbath, I concluded to ride out to the Hot
Sulphur wells and take a bath so as to pass off the time.
An electric car dumped me off at a swell place a few
miles out of the city. The bath house and hotel were
connected. They were grand and must have cost a mil
lion dollars, and were grand new buildings.
After taking a Turkish bath and geting back into my
old clothes I went into the office to pay my bill. The
new manager of the new institution waited on me. He
was a fine looking, dark-complexioned man with winning
ways. He asked me as a favor to go up to the new hotel
and try their Sunday dinner, and that if I didn't say it
was the finest meal served west of New York, it wouldn't
cost me a cent. I begged to be excused on account of
my rough clothes, but he argued that clothes don't make
the man, that my face covered all the defects in the
clothing. He finally offered to borrow some clothes for
me to wear in the dining room, but this I wouldn't hear
to. So to please the gentleman I agreed to go. It was
then after the noon hour.
Strolling through the quarter of a mile of covered
walk, I arrived in the hotel rotunda. After registering
I made a bee line for the large dining room, which was
crowded with fashionable ladies and gentlemen. Throw
ing my big cowboy hat on the hatrack I entered the din
ing room door, but here I was stopped by a black, shiny
individual, whose forefathers way back in the dark and
woolly past, fought their battles with cocoanuts from the
tree tops, His face was so black that charcoal would
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 383
have made a white mark on it. He said: "Hold on
dah, mister, who is it you wants to see?" I replied that
I wanted a square meal. He then said : "Dats all right
sah, I'll show you whar you can fill up."
He then led me to a small side room fronting on the
hallway. My head began to swell up for I thought he
was going to put me into a choice, private dining room
away from the common herd, so that I could verify the
manager's promise that they served the best meal west
of New York.
I was shoved into the small room where sat a lady and
small child eating their dinner.
After a long wait a small negro boy came to get my
order. He called off a few common articles and I told
him to bring me the best in the house. The stuff he
brought was "on the bum," and no doubt it tasted worse
because the manager had screwed up my mouth for a
fine meal. The meat was so tough I couldn't eat it.
After another long wait the boy came back and I or
dered cake and preserved figs. The boy looked at me
with astonishment and said: "No siree, you can't get
no figs in dis room. You can hab de cake but de figs
don't go." I asked why, and he replied: "Caus we
don't dish out figs to de serbents."
Then my wrath which had been accumulating ever
since the tough meat was laid to one side, broke loose.
Things were said which were uncomplimentary to such
a swell establishment. I left the room at once, with the
intention of bending the barrel of my old pet Colts 45
pistol around the African's head for putting me into the
servants' dining room. But on reaching the hallway I
384 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
concluded that such a scene on Sunday would be brutish,
as it might cause some of the ladies and children in the
dining room to faint. It would at least have spoiled
their dinner. Then I decided to go down to the bath
house and give the manager a piece of my mind.
In walking through the rotunda the clerk called my
attention to the fact that my dinner hadn't been paid for.
He soon found out though, that he had stirred up a hor
net's nest, so he allowed me to pass out.
On reaching the bath house, I learned that the man
ager had boarded a car and gone to the city. I then
did likewise, and in a cafe got a square meal.
About two weeks later, on finishing my work in Old
Mexico and the western edge of Texas, I spent another
Sunday in San Antonio. This time I wore good clothes
and made another trip to the Hot Sulphur Wells. I found
the manager absent, but nevertheless I tried his Sunday
dinner, and found it fine. The big African usher didn't
know that he had ever seen me before. He was all
smiles when he turned me over to the head waiter, who,
no doubt, thought I was good for at least a twenty-five
cent tip, but he was mistaken, as I hadn't gotten over my
disappointment of the previous visit. All "coons" still
looked alike to me.
This experience convinced me, beyond a doubt, that
clothes do make the man, especially among people who
cannot judge human nature through the face.
Asst. Supt. "Hank" Geary, now superintendent of our
Denver office, came to Old Mexico to assist me in clos
ing the operation.
The wind-up was a success, as I had caught the brother
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 385
of the general manager stealing money from the railway
company outright ; also caught many of his friends
among the passenger conductors.
I arrived back in Denver after an absence of about
two months, but only to remain over night as an oper
ation had been awaiting my return for nearly two months.
Mr. Z. B. James, the Salt Lake City, Utah, banker and
smelter man, was the client and he wouldn't have any
one but me to do the work. Of course, I was anxious
to get back to the swift little city by the great Salt Lake,
and it was a pleasure to know that banker James had
overlooked my sin of having "flim-flammed" him out of
that silver dollar the night that operative Billy S. and I
had the stolen ore in his residence.
A five hundred mile ride on the D. & R. G. Railway,
over the backbone of the American continent, landed me
in Salt Lake City. Mr. James was met in his private of
fice in the Z. B. James' bank, and the work discussed.
He explained that his large smelter at Murray, six miles
east of the city, had been sold to the smelter trust, hence
this work was to be done for them under his supervision.
He explained that bars of bullion had been missed from
the smelter and also from sealed cars after their arrival
at the eastern refinery, so he wanted me to get in with
the tough element of Curran and Salt Lake City and find
out who were doing the stealing.
In the smelter town of Murray I secured a cheap room,
and with "bum" clothes on, I loafed in the toughest sa
loons in the town.
In the course of a couple of weeks I was in solid with
the toughest thieves and cut-throats ever allowed to go
25
386 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
unhung. Some of them were married men, and when
not on raids, they were at home with their families,
bringing up a new set of criminals for the future. Some
lived in Murray and others in Salt Lake City. Of course,
I visited freely among them and became one of the gang,
though I refused to assist in their petty thieving and rob
bing, as I claimed to be holding my energy in reserve
for large deals.
My two months' operation showed up big steals where
in cars of bullion were broken into. Also where bullion
was stolen direct from the smelter.
A Mormon, whose brothers were high up in the church
and in with county officials, was the leader of these steals.
And to save their good name the small caliber superin
tendent of the Rio Grande Western Railway, Welby, and
his Mormon Special Agent, John Brown, did underhand
trickery which would have been a disgrace to a Piute
Indian.
My work, though, put a stop to future steals and
banker James was satisfied. Several of the smelter em
ployes, who stood in with the steals, lost their jobs. My
friend "Cunny" helped me to close the operation.
"Doc" LOCKREDGE AND THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER XVII.
A MINING CASE IN ALMA, COLORADO — A PROSPECTING
TRIP WITH A HALF-BREED MEXICAN — TAKING
PRISONER TO KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI — WORKING
ON UNITED STATES SENATOR SMOOT.
After returning from Salt Lake, I was detailed on
many different kinds of operations, some of them taking
me out of the city and state for a few weeks at a time.
On one of these trips to Gunnison, Colo., and other
places, I looked up evidence against the noted English
mine promoter, Whittaker Wright.
Another operation was for a very prominent financier,
of Denver. On this work I spent about a month in the
mining town of Alma, Colo., and of course, I had many
visits with my old friend "Doc" Lockridge. I found
him living alone high up in the mountains on the edge
of timber-line.
Strange to relate, I saw in the Alma livery stable
"Jacky's" bronco, which I broke to ride about fourteen
years previous. He was now a swell driver.
This operation proved a success, but I hated to face
one of the financier's mining partners who had in confi
dence given me the secrets of a crooked deal.
This partner was a nice fellow, and he and his lovely
young wife had treated me royally at their nice home in
Alma. I had passed myself off as a rich mining man
from New Mexico.
387
388 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
While with this financier, in his private office in a
certain firm of Denver, I had the pleasure of meeting
Mr. , one of the high officials of this firm. This
brought back memories of my first winter in Denver as
a detective, over fifteen years previous.
He was then a young man trying to sprout a mus
tache. For one whole month they had me shad
owing this young man, who held a minor position in the
said business firm, so as to find out his habits, which
were model, and of the Sunday School order. But I
prayed that he would get "bad" and spend his evenings
down town. Twice a week he would visit his sweetheart
out on Capitol Hill, which was then a howling wilder
ness, with the exception of a few new residences scat
tered here and there, and no sidewalks.
I had to remain out in the bitter cold while he did his
courting in the parlor. One bitter cold night I got
warmed up by peeping under the window curtain at the
bright fire and the red-hot love-making. They were pure
and innocent, and kept a bright light burning in the lamp.
About midnight he would depart for his room down town
and he would whistle every step of the way, which made
it easy for me to follow.
No doubt my favorable reports started Mr. to
the high position he now holds.
About the time that this operation was finished I
was detailed on a case at Hastings, Colo. The Wonder
Fuel Company there had one of their large barns full of
horses burned up, and I was sent there to find out who
did it. No one but the president of the company, Mr.
Delma B. Capilla, and the local manager, Mr. Johnson,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 389
were to know me. But later I found out that Mr. John
son became frightened for my safety and confided in the
two town marshals, Hightower and King.
In the course of a few weeks I was positive that Joe
Johnson, a half-breed man-killer, who lived with his
Mexican family there, had committed the crime with the
help of his brother-in-law and a half-breed Mexican by
the name of Wilford H.
But the question was to get evidence sufficient to con
vict. Therefore, it was decided that I hire Wilford H.
and go on a gold prospecting trip through the moun
tains of Colorado and New Mexico. The idea was to
get him off by himself in hopes that he would confess.
After a few days spent in the little city of Trinidad, on
the border of Colorado, Wilford H. and I boarded a
north-bound D. & R. G. train for Walsenburg, where we
bought our saddle animals and outfit.
In Walsenburg, Wilford had many Mexican friends.
I had two friends in the town to whom I confided. They
were the sheriff, Jeff Farr, brother of sheriff Ed. Farr,
who was killed by Bob McGinnis of the "Black Jack"
gang, and undersheriff Jack McQuerry.
Not having my rifle with me, Jeff Farr loaned me the
Winchester rifle, owned by his brother Ed. before his
death, for the trip.
On Wilford's and my leaving Walsenburg, our first
camp was pitched at the foot of the Spanish Peaks about
two miles from the Staplin ranch, a tourist's resort. We
camped here about a week or ten days and prospected
the Spanish Peaks from one side to the other, even up to
the extreme summit of the highest peak.
390 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
From the Spanish Peaks we drifted into New Mexico
and camped in many wild spots where a human being
would not be seen for days at a time.
At the once prosperous boom mining camp of LaBelle,
New Mexico, we rested a couple of days. In this town
there were buildings enough for several hundred inhabi
tants, but only one lone Dutchman lived in the place then.
I had visited LaBelle once years before, when the "boom"
was on, and the town was overcrowded with people from
every corner of the earth; hence I couldn't help but no
tice the great change. On my former visit while on trail
of a "bad" man from the Wet Mountain Valley in Colo
rado, I arrived in the town after midnight and at that
late hour the saloons were filled with drunken life.
That operation was for Mr. Hiram Wilkins, a big
hardware merchant of Colorado, and while on it I had
many ups and downs and hard rides.
From LaBelle we went to Elizabethtown, thence
crossed the big mountain range to Taos, the home and
burial place of the noted Kit Carson. Here Wilford had
some Mexican relatives, as he was born and partly raised
in Taos. For the time being, he dropped his Colorado
name of Wilford H. and took up his right name of Wil
ford W. Of course, I was cautioned not to give it away
that he had been using another name.
After a few days' rest in Taos, we drifted south twenty-
five miles into the high mountains where no one lived, and
where we didn't see any one for a whole week. Here
I did my best to get a full confession out of Wilford,
but failed. He gave the full details of how the stable was
set afire in revenge for the company running an oppo-
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 391
sition hack and stage line to ruin the business of Joe
Johnson, and he gave me to understand that Joe Johnson,
with the help of others, set fire to the stable and that he
(Wilford) saw the first blaze and could have saved the
horses from burning up had he desired to do so.
The fact is, he wanted me to know that he knew all
about the crime, but he didn't want to say enough to
incriminate himself and Joe Johnson. He proved to be a
pretty foxy half-breed.
I had received orders from our Asst. Supt. P. P. Ber-
riman, now superintendent, who had charge of the op
eration, to "shake" Wilford H. as soon as I felt satisfied
that sufficient evidence to convict could not be secured,
and come home.
As Wilford wanted to remain in Taos with his rela
tives, I shook him and then started down the Rio Grande
river, two days' travel to Embudo, where my outfit was
sold. It being only a few hours run on the D. & R. G.
railway from Embudo to New Mexico's ancient capital,
Santa Fe, I went there to visit my ranch and put in one
day and night with my pets.
Then I returned to Denver and discontinued the oper
ation after being on it about two or three months.
Soon after this, Joe Johnson shot and killed a promi
nent man by the name of Fox in Trinidad, Colo. Mr.
Fox was writing a letter in the post office when Joe John
son stepped up to him and blew out his brains with a
shot from a large pistol, and for this Johnson was hung
by the neck until dead. Thus society got rid of one
"bad" man, even though I had made a failure of sending
him to the penitentiary.
392 A COWBOY DETECTIVE.
Soon after my return to Denver, I was detailed to
work on the Gratton case in Colorado Springs, for the
Gratton Estate.
Millionaire Gratton, the lucky carpenter who had dis
covered the rich Independence mine in Cripple Creek,
had died and his son was trying to break his will, through
the courts. I was sorry when the contending forces com
promised their differences, as it knocked myself and sev
eral other Dickenson operatives out of leading a high-life
in the lovely little city of Colorado Springs.
Soon after the Gratton case ended, I had a pleasant
trip to Kansas City, Mo., with a man who had no sus
picion that I was a sleuth. Had he suspected me he
would have jumped off the train and possibly broken his
neck. We wanted to get him into Kansas City to save
extradition expenses. The moment he stepped off the
train in Kansas City I pointed him out to Mr. Williston,
the superintendent of our Kansas City office, who was at
the depot to meet me. Then he had a local officer arrest
the man without his ever knowing that I was in the game.
I boarded an early morning train for home.
My stay in Denver was short, as Asst. Supt. "Rank"
Curran hustled me off to Utah in company with opera
tive J. V. Marke, now an assistant superintendent of the
Denver office, and operative B., our work being to dig
up evidence against a distinguished citizen of Provo,
Utah; to prevent him taking his seat in a public place,
our clients being boss workers in the Lord's vineyard,
who didn't like the taste of the sour grapes coming from
the corner of the same vineyard where this gentleman
worked.
A COWBOY -DETECTIVE 393
We operatives were divided into different districts,
mine being the beautiful little city of Prove, the home of
the quarry. In Provo my headquarters were estab
lished though some of my work was done in Salt Lake
City, where I knew one church leader, Mr. Cannon,
whose acquaintance I had made while on my first opera
tion for Banker James.
I had adopted the name of Charles T. Lloyd in Provo,
and passed myself off as a well-to-do mining man from
New Mexico.
I had been instructed to run down a certain young
lady of Provo, who was supposed to have married this
citizen and was living in one of the church colonies of
Old Mexico, as one of this man's plural wives. No
one in Provo seemed to know what had become of this
young lady after her supposed plural marriage to him,
as she had promptly dropped out of sight as though the
ground had swallowed her up.
I worked on the high and mighty, the low, leading
people of Provo, and others, who had more wives than
the law allows, and I secured "cinch" cases against some
of them.
I found out that Miss Bessie Johnson had been a
schoolgirl chum of the young lady who was supposed to
be in Mexico as the wife of the hunted one. Therefore I
started out to win the friendship and acquaintance of
Miss Bessie. A Mr. Moran, who owned a barber shop
in Provo was used as the cat's paw to pull my chestnuts
out of the fire. He was a fine fellow and a friend to the
Johnson family.
I had made up my mind to pretend to be in love with
394 'A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Miss Bessie, no matter how homely she might be. But
these pretentions turned into facts the moment that Mr.
Moran introduced me to the young lady at her home.
It was one of my many genuine cases of love at first
sight, and even to this day little Cupid gives me a dig in
the ribs with his dart, when I think of her, which is quite
often, although she is now married to a Salt Lake City
business man.
During the balance of my stay in Provo, not a day
passed without my meeting Miss Bessie, who was just
as sweet as she was pretty. She used to play the piano
for me while her pretty young sister Marie sang, and
they made a team hard to beat.
From Miss Bessie I found out all about the supposed
young plural wife of Mr. . She was then in a
college at Logan, Utah, finishing her education. She and
Bessie, who was twenty-one years of age, corresponded
with each other, and Bessie had the young lady's photo
which was shown to me.
After nearly a two months' t,tay in Provo, during
which time much of the honey of life was sipped by
yours truly, my tent was folded and a start made for
Denver, Colo.
As my reports showed, the intended victim came out
with flying colors. He lived a happy contented life with
a lovely wife whom I talked with, and a house full of
nice, bright children, and if he had other than this lawful
wife, I failed to discover it.
Mr. owns a business in Provo, and I failed to
find one individual who had a bad wor4 to say against his
moral character.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE WENTZ KIDNAPPING CASE — EIGHT MONTHS
AMONG THE MOONSHINERS OF KENTUCKY AND VIR
GINIA.
My next operation was an educator, as I was thrown
among a strange class of people who think nothing of
taking human life.
It was about the middle of November, 1903, when
manager of the Western Division, Mr. Jas. McCartney,
called me into his private office to inform me that I had
been selected for an operation after every agency office
in the United States had been scoured for a suitable
operative to do the work. He then gave me an outline
of the operation which was to be conducted through the
Philadelphia office, our client being Millionaire Dr. Wentz
of Philadelphia, Pa., whose young son Edward Wentz
had lately been kidnapped in the mountains of Virginia
and was supposed to be held a prisoner in Kentucky for
a ransom, although it was feared that the young man
had been taken to Kentucky and murdered for revenge.
Mr. McCartney informed me that it was a very dan
gerous operation and asked if I were willing to under
take it. Of course I replied yes, as I was itching to have
some new experiences and to see new country. Then
Asst. Supt. "Hank" Geary gave me the large pile of cor
respondence which had taken place between the different
offices on the subject to read over.
395
396 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Mr. McCartney's letter to the head officials of the
New York office caused my head to expand several
inches, for he gave me a great "send off," and the replies
to this letter were equally flattering. I was thought to
be the only man in the agency who could go among the
"moonshiners" of the Kentucky mountains and stay
there in spite of danger and threats.
On short notice I boarded a train on the U. P. Ry. for
Chicago, 111. Arriving in the smoky city by the lake,
I called at our agency office to see the "boys," including
Mr. W. L. Dickenson, Gen. Supt. F. V. Taylor and Supt.
Schaumwort.
At night Charlie S. saw me off on the Cannon Ball
train for Buffalo, New York, by way of Detroit, Mich.,
and through Canada to Niagara Falls.
From the train I had a fair view of Niagara Falls
and other sights. In Buffalo, New York, I laid over one
night. I enjoyed the ride from Buffalo to Philadelphia,
as everything seemed different from "out west."
In Philadelphia I found the cleanest, most good-natured
city that I had ever been in, but holy smoke, to use a cow
boy phrase, she is slow. Even the girls and the "hurry-
up wagon" are not so swift as in other cities. And I
found that same graveyard slowness prevailing in our
office, from the superintendent down to the office boy.
I turned myself over to the superintendent, Mr. A. M.
Pierce, and he turned me over to Asst. Supt. E. E.
Eslin, who had charge of the Dr. Wentz kidnapping
operation.
When not busy working in the office to familiarize
myself with the operation, I was taking in the sights
397
of the city, the most interesting being the building where
the Declaration of Independence was signed; also the
art galleries were interesting to me.
Chief Clerk Dailey kindly acted as pilot in showing
me the sights of the city.
After spending a week in the city of Brotherly Love,
I was called to New York City by Mr. Roydel L. Dick-
enson, who wanted to consult with me about the Dr.
Wentz operation. Of course, this just suited me as I
wanted to see that city of sky-scrapers.
The day was spent with Mr. Dickenson, he taking me
out to lunch with himself and Gen. Manager Mr. Geo.
E. Langston.
In advising me about my future work in Kentucky
and Virginia, Mr. Dickenson said I was taking my life
into my own hands and that he didn't expect to see me
come out of those mountains alive. He said I had no
idea of what kind of people inhabited those mountains ;
that they are a different class from those of Texas and
the west; that they think nothing of shooting a man in
the back on the least provocation; that they are not the
kind of men who will fight it out face to face with an
opponent; that the records of the Dickenson agency
since 1850 prove this. Therefore, in a serious manner
Mr. Dickinson advised me to expect death at any mo
ment. He said it was almost impossible to get an oper
ative located in those mountains, from the fact that
strangers do not go in there unless they have business,
and in that case they are known by the merchants or have
letters to some one there stating the nature of their
mission.
398 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
He said the main object was to find Edward Wentz
if still alive and held a prisoner, so as to get soldiers
in there and clean out the country, or if dead, to recover
the body. He thought it would be almost out of the
question to convict any one in the courts of that country
owing to the fact that the Virginia Coal & Iron Co. of
which Dr. Wentz is president, had many enemies among
the ignorant and lawless element, and because the people
are all mixed up and related to each other, so that it is
difficult to get an unbiased jury. He felt sure that I
wouldn't be in there away from the railroad twenty- four
hours before they would have me "spotted" as a detective
in the revenue service, to run down "moonshiners," or
on the hunt for young Wentz, and in that case I would
have to use my own judgment as to whether to get out
of the country or stand my ground. He insisted that
I must not feel backward about leaving the moment
that I realized my life to be in immediate danger. But
I told him that my stubborn phrenology bump wouldn't
allow me to leave after I once got in there.
I was instructed to leave the number of my watch, a
description of my pocket-knife, key ring, pistol and the
prominent marks on my body, including the fillings in
my teeth, so that my body in case of death could be
identified. I sent these to the Philadelphia office after
arriving on the ground, as I had received a reminder
to do so from Asst. Supt. Eslin, through the mail.
Before parting with Mr. Dickenson he tried to get
me to promise that I would, after finishing this opera
tion, accept the position of assistant superintendent in one
of the western offices. It caused a smile when I told him
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 399
that I didn't consider there was much honor in being an
assistant superintendent. He replied that it was necessary
to start as an assistant so as to learn the office work, be
fore becoming a superintendent. He cited the .case of
my friend W. O. Sayles becoming superintendent soon
after being made an assistant, and he said it was through
his request that I had been offered the promotion, ahead
of Sayles. I finally told him that the position of opera
tive suited me.
During the day I met Mr. Jay Cornbush, manager of
the Eastern Division, and Supt. C. D. Hornybill, also
young Alman Dickenson and the many assistant superin
tendents.
It was agreed by Mr. Dickenson that I take an early
morning train back to Philadelphia, and that when my
operation was finished I could come back and see the
sights of New York City. So bidding Mr. Dicken
son goodby, he turned me over to operative G. J. H.
who had instructions to take me to dinner or to one
of the theaters or anywhere else that I might want to go,
at the agency's expense.
A pleasant evening was spent, and after midnight a
ferryboat landed me in "Jersey" where a train was
boarded for the slow City of Brotherly Love.
Soon after my return to Philadelphia I started for
Winchester, Kentucky, with about $400.00 in my pocket
and a small trunk containing my cowboy boots, hat, etc.
It had been decided best that I go into Letcher County,
Kentucky, which borders on Wise County, Virginia,
where Edward Wentz was kidnapped, by way of Jack
son, in Brethitt county, Kentucky, as if I left the rail-
road in Wise county, Virginia, where the trouble oc
curred I would be suspected at once.
In the little city of Winchester I put up with Mr.
Hays, who ran a hotel. Here I rigged out in my old
cowboy clothes and boarded a branch train for Jackson,
the trunk with my good clothes being left with Mr.
Hays until further orders. Of course Hays didn't know
where I was headed for.
I found Jackson to be a drunken tough town. The
militia were just pulling out after having been there for
a long time, on account of the trouble over the assas
sination of lawyer Marcum, which had ended in many
killings.
The next day after my arrival in Jackson, I saw some
thing which convinced me that the human race is slightly
mixed with the pig family of animals. An old man on
a mule started out of town with two jugs of whisky
tied across the back part of his saddle. He hadn't gone
but half a block when the string broke and the jugs
fell to the ground and broke. The street was quite
muddy and the whiskey lay in pools on the ground.
The old man got down on his knees and hands and be
gan to drink from the fiery pools. Soon others came and
followed suit. They put me in mind of a drove of human
swine.
In Jackson I bought a mule and an old light spring
wagon. Then it was two days before I could get the
mule shod, as all blacksmiths in town were drunk. The
mule stood at one shop all day while a pair of shoes
were being fitted. In the meantime I was taking in the
dives with a young man from Rock House Creek, up in
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 401
the country where I was going. On returning to the
shop to get Mr. Donkey I found that the smith had made
a mistake and put the mule shoes onto a sleepy old
grey horse tied to a tree outside the shop. The feet
had been rasped down to fit the shoes. That night my
mule got out of his stable and "hit" the road for "tall
timber." Next morning I followed his tracks into the
mountains and found him shut up in a log stable down
in a field. The woman and boy didn't want to give him
up until their lord and master came back from town,
but he was taken back to town just the same, as I felt
sure they were thieves.
Finally I got started for Whitesburg, the county seat
of Letcher county, about 150 miles east.
The first day out I was compelled to wait an hour
at a narrow bridge where several wagons had the road
blocked, while the drivers were in a saloon near by
drinking. I was told that this was a game the saloon
man played every day to make business for his place,
and that it often caused serious fights.
My route was up Lost Creek through mud up to the
mule's knees in places.
The road was in the bed of the creek most of the
way, as the small patches of level land upon the banks
were needed by the poverty-stricken people for farming
purposes. Even the sides of steep mountains were used
for crops. This applies to the whole mountain regions
of Kentucky, as I found out later. I soon discovered
my mistake in having started with a vehicle, but I sup
posed the country was unsettled in places so that I
would have to camp out, On that account camp outfit
26
402 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and bedding had been brought along. The whole coun
try is thickly settled, especially along the main roads
and creeks. Some days the best I could do was twelve
or fifteen miles, owing to the deep mud and large rocks
in the bed of the creeks.
Before reaching Hazzard, the county seat of Perry
county, I found a man by the name of Pat N., who was
a brother to Ashford N., a "bad" man in Wise County,
Virginia, who was suspected of having a hand in the kid
napping of Ed. Wentz, as he had been seen near the
scene and as it was known that he was a bitter enemy
of the Wentz brothers, Ed. and Dan, who had charge
of the coal properties in that country. I put up with
Pat N. until I had secured a letter of introduction to
Ashford N. in Virginia.
Pat informed me that his brother "Ash" had spent
three years in Texas, therefore I expressed a desire to
meet him.
Pat N. kept a small saloon and store with about $50.00
worth of goods on hand. He had about eight children
and I had to sleep with three of the boys. The whole
family slept in one little room the size of a Utah chicken
house. So with about eleven of us in one room, the
purity of the air can be imagined. This is another kind
of a bitter pill that a detective has to swallow.
On reaching Hazzard, which is on the Kentucky river,
I found court in session, and the little burg was full of
drunken men, though no saloons were allowed to run
as it is a local option county.
I was advised in Hazzard by many not to under
take the trip alone over the mountains to Whitesburg,
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 403
as the road was almost impassable for a vehicle, and the
country inhabited by an ignorant and vicious people who
had been known to murder travelers for their money
and valuables.
After leaving Hazzard the road led up the Kentucky
river for several miles east, then turned to the north up
a rocky, muddy creek, and now my misery began. The
higher up the creek we got the worse the road became,
and the wilder and woollier the people appeared.
The water in the creek was frozen over, so that in
following its bed the mule and rig would break through,
causing the air to become impregnated with swear-words.
Ten miles of this and "Donk" and I were ready for sup
per at one of the "shacks" called houses, along the road.
My patience had been tested between Jackson and
Hazzard by the fool questions asked me by every man,
woman and child met, but it was at the bursting point
before reaching Whitesburg, for here even small boys
carrying pistols or squirrel rifles would stop me in the
road to ask fool questions. They all started out in the
same strain : "Say mister, wha'r mought you be goin ?"
and "Say mister, what mought your name be?" A fool
girl about eighteen years old who was wading in mud
up to her ankles, got in the seat beside me before she
asked any questions. I had invited her to ride to the
little store two miles ahead, where she was going. After
getting on the seat she turned her good-looking face
towards me and said: "Do you live in these parts, mis
ter?" I replied no, that I lived in Texas.
The blood could be seen rushing into her face after
it got past the dirt around her neck. Most girls in these
404 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
mountains keep the dirt washed from their faces, which
leaves a dark ring around the neck. Some hide this
ring by wearing a high collar, but it's a safe two-to-one
bet that it's there just the same.
Here the frightened girl begged me to stop the mule
and let her out, which I did, though I told her that she
need have no fear just because I was from Texas.
The girl beat me to the store by a quarter of a mile.
Then the dozen or more men, women and children at
the store turned out on the road to see the wild man
from Texas, and they wore me out asking fool questions.
This is the part of Kentucky where preachers dare not
come on account of the men and boys getting drunk and
shooting off their guns, and mouths, too.
In going over the mountain I had to hire two white
men and a half-breed negro to help me, as the road was
blocked with ice so that we had to climb the side of a
steep hill. Two men had to hold the vehicle up to keep
it from tumbling over the mountain cliff, while the other
man and myself kept "Donk" on his feet, and here
"Donk" proved himself sure-footed and a stayer.
Here a small settlement of half-breed negroes lived.
A full-blood negro is a Curiosity to the natives of these
mountains of Kentucky, though they are plentiful in
the coal mines over the line in Virginia.
On driving down to the Rock House Creek, which is
noted for "moonshine" whisky and tough men, about
night, I found everything in an uproar. Most of the
people were drunk and on the warpath. A celebration
had been held in the schoolhouse. The blood hadn't
begun to flow until nearly night, though the "moonshine"
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 405
liquor had been flowing all day. The row started over
a man cutting a mule's tail off almost up to his ears.
Several men were badly hurt, so it was said. The fight
continued far into the night at the house where I had
intended to stop, owing to it being a tough place. As
a rule I selected the toughest places to put up at, but
this night I was advised by two men not to stop at this
house or I would be killed before morning, on account
of being a stranger, and this house being the head
quarters for the drunken gang. So I stopped on the
adjoining farm.
Next day a severe snowstorm was raging, and about
3 :oo P. M. a man who was on his way from Rock House
to Whitesburg where he lived, gave me a couple of
drinks out of his jug of "moonshine" whisky, which he
had bought at a still. He gave me his name as Sol Hoi-
comb, and invited me to come and put up with him in
Whitesburg, as his wife sometimes kept private boarders.
He described the house so that it could be found easily.
After dark I drove up to the log mansion owned by
Sol Holcomb. Then I had another drink out of the same
jug, but now the bottom had to be tipped high up in the
air in order to squeeze a drink out of it.
At the supper table I told Mrs. Sol Holcomb, who tip
ped the scales at 250 pounds, and her pretty twenty year
old daughter Lizzie, who weighed only an even hundred
pounds — that Sol had saved my life by stopping me on
the road in a blinding snowstorm to let me sample his
liquor.
I didn't tarry long in Whitesburg, but continued on
up the Kentucky river, eighteen miles to Craftsville,
406 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
where I had had some "fake" letters sent from Galves-
ton, Texas, by my cousin, Miss Jeanette McKay.
In Philadelphia we had selected Craftsville post office
as a good point for me to head for, as it was in the
heart of the tough district where the Potter-Wright
feud has been going on for years, until nearly all the
male members of both parties had been killed.
On reaching Craftsville I was somewhat surprised,
for I expected to find a little town or one store at least.
There was nothing here but old widow Bee Craft's
house and farm, and the young wife of old lady Bee
Craft's son Tom was the "whole cheese" in handling
Uncle Samuel's mail. Once a week she would have to
strain her nerves in going over about one dozen letters
and a few dozen papers, mostly Fireside Companions
from Portland, Maine. The mail sack would be dumped
out on the floor and sorted over there. All mail ad
dressed to Craftsville would be put in the garret until
some one called for it.
The next day was Christmas eve, and "Nels" Craft,
a son of the widow Bee Craft, came from his place half
a mile below on the river, to find out who wanted to
send for Xmas "moonshine/' as he was going to a still
that day. Tom Craft and I both sent for a supply. That
night we all, including the old lady and her adopted
daughter Miss Lou, rode down to "Nels' " place to eat
supper and drink "moonshine." "Nels" and his brother-
in-law, Tilden Wright, had returned from the still with
the liquor.
On the way home after midnight Tom Craft made
the air ring with his shouts and yelling. He was loaded
EMMA S., "DONK" AND THE AUTHOR.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 407
with "moonshine" inside and out. Miss Lou rode be
hind me on "Donk" and helped to hold me on, as I was
a little bit loaded myself, though my early training in
Texas prevented me from yelling in the presence of
ladies. The cowboy "Comanche yells" were almost
choking me though, in their eagerness to escape, but by
force of will-power they were held back.
Next morning was Christmas, and young Wiley Craft
rode down from his father's place half a mile above,
to tell me that he had caught the fat 'possum for which
I had offered a reward of fifty cents the day before.
On the previous day I had gone up to John Craft's
with Tom to see the pretty girl from Donkey, Virginia,
who had just arrived with her father "Doc." They
were taking tin-type photos and canvassing for a life
insurance company in Detroit, Michigan. This seventeen
year old girl, Emma, was certainly a "peach," when it
came to the bloom of youth and beauty painted on her
cheeks.
In Philadelphia, Donkey, Va., had been given to me -as
the toughest little spot on earth, and a likely place to
get some information about young Wentz. Therefore
I concluded to fall in love with Emma, even though
I was old enough to be her father, so as to have an
excuse for visiting Donkey, Va.
The 'possum was part of the scheme. I returned with
Wiley Craft to see Mr. 'possum and have Emma take
his picture before I got on the outside of him, for Mrs.
John Craft had agreed if one was caught, to cook him
with sweet potatoes for my Christmas supper.
I found the opossum to be young and fat. His picture
was "took" and he then went into the pot.
408 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Miss Lou had gone up to John Craft's early in the
day with her sweetheart, Bennie, who had a bad case of
lovesickness, to join the crowd of young folks who had
congregated there.
After helping Mrs. Craft put the 'possum into the pot
I went into the large front room to drink "moonshine"
with "Doc," John Craft and others, and to watch the
young folks play a new kind of a kissing game.
A large number of couples would form a circle by
holding each other's hands. This circle of young men
and women would revolve round and round until one
of their number snapped his or her fingers at some one in
the audience. Then the one snapped at would jump up
and catch the snapper and by force kiss him or her. I
noticed that the kissing was always on the cheek, and
when Miss Lou snapped at me, while I was talking to
"Doc" about "Donkey" town, I warned her not to do it
again, if she did it would wind up in a western kiss
which is generally planted where it will do the most
good. I also told her that I was a little too old to get
into their game, although this was a lie, as at that very
moment I was dying to get into the game just long
enough to kiss Emma once, and thereby lengthen my
life about five years.
In passing, Lou snapped at me again, and the tussle
began. I went at it in a systematic manner and w.hen
her head rested on my left arm and her face was turned
up towards the ceiling, the kiss was planted on her lips
where it did the most good, to one poor sinner at least.
Then I had to get inside the ring and choose a girl from
the circle. Of course Emma was the victim and it was
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 409
soon over, as sweet things seldom last long, at least
not long enough.
As Mrs. Bee Craft and Tom's wife were getting up
a fine turkey dinner, I had promised to be back there at
noon. I felt sure of finding a drunken crowd there on
my return, as they had begun to arrive before I left.
On getting "Donk" to start, Lou insisted on riding
behind me in spite of the protests from her lover Bennie.
I tried to persuade her to let Bennie take her home, as
he had brought her, but she wouldn't have it that way,
so there was nothing for me to do but be "blooded" and
take the chances of an assassin's bullet later.
On reaching home the mule was put into the stable
and fed, after Lou had been helped off at the front gate.
Loud swearing could be heard in the house, which
showed that the "moonshine" was getting in its work.
On stepping onto the porch, Tilden Wright, one of
the noted feudists whose father and older brothers had
lately been killed by the Potter gang, came out of the
dining room and met me face to face. With his right
hand resting on the handle of the large pistol strapped
to his waist, he said in an angry and insulting voice:
"Say, Lloyd, how would you like to have your brains
scattered all over this floor?"
I knew there was war in the air from the way Mrs.
Tom Craft, who had followed Wright out of the dining
room, looked. She was pale and trembling. Therefore
my hand went up to my breast to the shirt front which
was open, before answering. Then looking Wright in
the eyes with a good natured smile I said : "Why, Tilden,
it wouldn't feel very nice to have my brains scattered on
410 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
the floor, and besides it would cause a lot of extra work
to clean them up."
Then I asked the cause of his anger and found it to
be the Virginia girl, Emma, whom he said I was acting
a fool over, when there were prettier girls in Kentucky
than she ; that his sister-in-law, Miss Victoria Craft, was
a prettier girl than Emma. I asked him why he didn't
trot out Miss Victoria so I could get a look at her and
decide the matter for myself. He replied: "Why damn
it, you saw her last night at Nels' party," I told him he
was mistaken as Victoria's mother was sick so that she
couldn't attend the party at "Nels'." He studied a mo
ment and replied: "That's so, her mother was sick last
night. I'll bring her up tomorrow and you'll say she's
a prettier girl than Emma."
Then Wright took his hand from the pistol and started
staggering into the large front room where the gang
were.
Had Wright pulled his pistol he would have been sur
prised when old Colts 45 came out from under my left
arm where it was concealed in a "Wess Harding"
shoulder scabbard. The day being warm, I was in my
shirt-sleeves, hence he could see no pistol and thought
me unarmed. My shirt was kept unbuttoned from the
collar down, in order that my hand could reach the pis
tol quickly. At nights I slept with it under my arm.
On going into the dining room I found a crowd of
strangers eating at the table. Most of them were drunk
and noisy, and eyed me with suspicion as the old lady
seated me at a vacant place.
"Mose" Craft who owned a "moonshine" still, and who
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 411
had run "moonshine" stills all his life, was at the table
eating, while two men kept him in his seat as he wanted
to go into the other room to renew the fight with "Nels"
Craft, his cousin. "Nels" was being held by other men
in the front room. Broken dishes and blood were scat
tered over the dining room floor. The fight had been a
fierce one; and others besides the cousins had taken a
hand. Pistols and knives had not been used owing to
the efforts of the women folks and old man Joe Craft,
who was quite sober and acted as peace-maker.
On finishing my dinner I concluded not to go into
the front room where the drunken mob were, but to
"hike" back to Emma and the 'possum and sweet 'taters.
I was just leading "Donk" out of the stable, which
was a hundred yards from the residence at the foot of
a mountain, when I heard Tilden Wright calling : "Lloyd,
you where are you?" Then looking towards the
house I saw Tilden Wright and "Mose" Craft searching
for me. They staggered around back of the house and
when out of sight I led the mule back of the stable and
let down a rail fence. When inside the pasture the
fence was put back in place. Then "Donk" was mounted
and a run made up a small gulch, thence a short climb
up the mountain side to a thicket of timber and brush.
Here I dismounted and lay down to watch developments.
I was high up above the house and could see Wright
and Craft searching for me. When they searched the
stable and found my mule gone, they began calling me
all kinds of names. Then they began shooting down
the timbered lane through which I was supposed to have
gone. They then went to the house and I had a good
412 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
laugh all by( my lone self, at the way they had been fooled.
Had they found me the chances are it would have ended
in bloodshed, for later "Mose" Craft, who is a fine fellow
when sober, apologized to me and said they had got it
into their heads that I was a spy from the revenue office
in search of "moonshiners," hence he and Tilden trying
to find me to raise a "racket."
A climb over the mountain and the letting down of
two more rail fences and the fording of the Kentucky
river, brought me to John Craft's where I joined the
lively crowd and had my nerves quieted with a few
more young kisses. This time one of John Craft's daugh
ters started the ball to rolling by "snapping" her fingers
at me. She wanted no doubt, to try the experiment of a
western scientific kiss.
During the middle of the afternoon, Joe Craft and
four other men brought "Mose" Craft and his fighting
"jag" up to our place so as to get him away from "Nels."
They had been fighting again.
Here I received some new lessons in human nature,
which differed from anything which I had ever seen
before.
The house was full of young ladies, and some who
were not so young. "Mose" Craft stepped into the door
and opened up with the most vulgar language that the
human tongue is capable of uttering, and he topped it
off with a vulgar song. In my native state, he would
have been filled so full of lead by angry fathers, brothers,
and sweethearts, that it would have required an extra
team to have hauled his body to the graveyard. The
girls and women all ran to the kitchen as soon as pos-
VICTORIA CRAFT.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 413
sible. Mrs. John Craft soon had "Mose" in bed and
asleep.
Gee, but I did enjoy that 'possum and the sweet
potatoes.
I returned to Mrs. Bee Craft's late at night and
found the old lady and Miss Lou sitting by the kitchen
fireplace. The balance were in bed or had left for their
homes.
Mrs. Bee Craft had drunk her share of the "moon
shine," hence she was in a talkative mood. She told me
all about her oldest son, who is now married and living
a peaceful life in another part of the state, having lived
an outlaw life for years in these mountains, on account
of killing revenue officers who were trying to stamp out
"moonshining ;" and of how her husband was burned to
death while drunk in the house of two "bad" women.
In speaking of her enemies, the old lady used language
which caused me to blush on acount of Miss Lou, who
was present. But Lou didn't seem to mind it, so from
that time on while in these mountains, I did not waste
any more blushes.
Old Lady Bee Craft turned out to be, in my estima
tion the most honest and motherly woman in this moun
tain region. I had a chance to learn her true nature.
The next day Miss Victoria, Tilden Wright's sister-in-
law, came to the widow Bee Craft's, and I took her and
Lou up to John Craft's and had their pictures "took."
Miss Victoria was a nice, good-looking girl, but as
a beauty she couldn't travel in the same class with Miss
Emma.
A couple of days later I bade the Crafts goodby for
414 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
the time being, and started for Whitesburg in my spring
wagon. Tom Craft advised me not to start as the river
was frozen over at two of the bad crossings, and if the
mule and rig broke through the ice I couldn't get them
back onto the ice, as the water was belly-deep to a horse.
In the eighteen miles to Whitesburg the river had to be
crossed about a dozen times. I thanked Tom for his
advice, but told him that out west we never crossed a
bridge till we got to it, and then if the bridge was gone,
we crossed anyway.
At one of the crossings my mule and wagon broke
through in deep water, and I scared "Donk" by yelling
and whipping so that he split the ice wide open. He
would make a jump up on the ice, and then when it
broke through, he would try, try again. Finally he was
on the run, splashing water all over me until I was as
wet as a drowned rat. Once he slipped on the ice and
went down into the water on his side, but he came up
running.
Soon after this, we passed Monroe W.'s house by the
side of the road, and being wet, I concluded to make
an effort to stay all night. I wanted to make Monroe's
acquaintance anyway, as he was one of Wentz's bitterest
enemies and suspected of having a hand in kidnapping
young Wentz. He had been in the "moonshine" liquor
business all his life and was considered a king-bee among
the "moonshiners."
The hired man informed me that Monroe W. was
down in a pasture after some cattle, and wouldn't be
back for an hour. He also informed me that Monroe
W. was not in the habit of taking strangers in to put up
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 415
all night. This I took as a hint that I had better be
going on as it was late in the evening.
Just about dark, after I had started up a steep grade
to go over a high ridge into Whitesburg which lay two
miles further down the river, a 250 pound piece of
middle-age humanity rode up behind me on a large bay
horse and commanded me to stop. I did so, then he
rode up by the side of the wagon and in an angry voice
asked: "What in the h — 1 are you doing in this coun
try?" I told him that we were going to Whitesburg,
providing the Lord was willing and the mule held out.
He replied:
"We don't want your kind of people in this country,
so you had better hit the road and go back where you
came from, and you want to go d — d quick, too. You
will be lucky if you get back."
I asked why they didn't want me here. He replied:
"You are a d — d detective that's why." I asked what
a detective would be doing in such a country as this.
He replied: "That's all right, we've had your kind of
people here before, spying around to catch moonshiners.
You had better turn that mule around and hit the road
back if you know what's good for you."
Here I looked back down the road and saw two men on
horseback coming in a slow walk. They were a quarter
of a mile away, at a turn in the road. I concluded that
they were into this scheme to run me out of the country,
so I started to get mad and my stubborn bump began to
work.
The mule was started ahead, and I told the big moun
taineer that I was going to Whitesburg in spite of h— 1
416 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and highwater. He replied: "Well by God if you do,
you and your d — d outfit will go into the river."
Here I became mad "proper," and said: "You cut
throats may shoot me from behind a tree up on the
mountain side, which I am told is your favorite way to
assassinate people, but you can't scare me. I'm going to
Whitesburg, so turn your wolf loose.
He put spurs to his horse and started up the steep
grade on a trot ahead of me saying: "Well by God if
you do, I'll have you thrown in jail till we can investi
gate you."
I hallooed back : "All right, you'll find me at Sol Hoi-
comb's" At this he jerked his horse up and said : "What
in the h — 1 do you know about Sol Holcomb ? You have
never been in Whitesburg!" I replied: "The d — 1 I
havn't; I just left Whitesburg two days before Christ
mas."
He then started off again, saying: "All right, I'll just
have you thrown in jail anyhow."
As it soon became dark, I lost sight of Monroe W. and
the two men following behind.
It was plain to my mind now, that this big man who
proved to be Monroe W. had never heard of me being
in the country, and when his hired man described me
and told him I wanted to stay all night at his place he
concluded that I had just come from Virginia, from
whence they had been looking for detectives. And a
month later, after I had become "solid" with his mother-
in-law, Lottie H., I found out that my guess was right,
for she said that Monroe W. thought I was a detective
sent from Virginia to work on the Wentz case, but that
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 417
when he found out I had already been to Whitesburg
and had driven overland from Jackson, Ky., he tried to
pass it off as a joke as though he just wanted to frighten
me.
It was over an hour after dark when I drove into
Whitesburg, and when I went into the little "shack" of
a post office, Monroe W. and a man whom I later found
was one of his chums, were there ahead of me.
I asked for my mail and a letter was handed out.
It was just the one I wanted, and I knew no others
would come at that time. Just as I received the letter
Monroe W. stepped up and asked to see the post-mark
on it. I replied, certainly, if it would do him any good ;
so the letter was handed to him. He then took it to an
oil lamp in one corner where he and his chum examined
the post-mark which was Galveston, Texas. This was
one of the "fake" letters which my cousin Jeanette
McKay had copied from one I sent her. Later, after I
had taken Monroe W. into my confidence, I let him
read the contents of this "fake" letter.
Had I not mentioned the name of Sol Holcomb, show
ing that I had been in Whitesburg before, there is no
telling what might have happened, for if the two riders
seen following behind were into the play they could
have taken a cut-off bridlepath after getting over the
high ridge, and have joined Monroe W. without my
seeing them. Then if so disposed, they could have way
laid me and thrown my body and the outfit into the river,
far below to the left.
Thus did Christmas of 1903 pass into oblivion, along
with the one spent on the L X ranch with Hollicott and
his demijohn,
27
CHAPTER XIX
A HURRAH LIFE AMONG THE "MOONSHINERS" — I ES
CAPE POSSIBLE DEATH BY A SCRATCH — THE BODY OF
ED. WENTZ FOUND.
After becoming settled in Whitesburg at the Holcomb
log mansion on the main street, I began to study the peo
ple. I found that those living in town were an improve
ment over those of the country.
My spring wagon was discarded never to be used again
by me. It was put under a shed for Mrs. Holcomb's
chickens to roost on. I concluded to stick to the hurri
cane deck of a mule or horse in future.
On making inquiry I found that Ashford N., whose
brother lived on Lost Creek, was in the Whitesburg jail
serving out a six months' sentence, by order of the much
hated Republican District Judge Morse, who tries to en
force the laws. "Ash" had been convicted of selling liquor
in this prohibition county of Letcher, Kentucky. At the
jail through the steel bars, my letter of introduction from
his brother Pat was presented, and we became fast
friends. He let me read his love letters and I furnished
the "moonshine" to revive his drooping spirits.
Ashford N. had lived three years in Greer County,
Texas, now part of Oklahoma; and I happened to be
acquainted in that country which cemented our friend
ship.
The jail was filled with men, the worst looking and
418
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 419
most confident one being Shepard, who murdered a
man in cold blood, at the same time wounding a woman
and baby, on Big Cowen Creek, a few miles south of
Crafts ville, on Christmas day, just past. He had shot
the man, Riley Webb, while he was warming his hands
at a fireplace. Still he was confident of coming clear at
his trial, as he had given Attorney Dan D. Field a horse
to defend him.
After becoming acquainted with the situation as exist
ing in Letcher County, I could see good grounds for
Shepard's confidence in acquittal, for Mr. Field is a
bright lawyer and is related by blood or marriage with
nearly every one in the county. Besides, whisky is
cheap. I myself with a pint flask of "moonshine" «as a
weapon, faced a dignified Democratic judge and had a
shooting scrape virtually annulled. I showed good judg
ment though, by presenting the flask of liquor before
stating my case, and I assured this acting district judge
that my intention was not to bribe him with this flask of
corn juice, which was an open lie that could be seen by
a less learned man than this Honorable Court.
I did the job to save Birdie H's sweetheart a trip to
the penitentiary.
I made frequent trips to Collins' still in Knott County,
on the head of Rock House creek, after liquor for my
self and friends.
I knew the date when "Doc" and his daughter Emma
were to be at Collins' still to take pictures, so my plans
were arranged accordingly.
On that date "Donk" and I marched up to the Collins
residence with two empty jugs to be filled, one for my-
420 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
self and the other for Ashford N. who had sent the cash
to pay for his gallon of firewater. Miss Emma greeted
us at the gate, and my spirits soared upwards. We had
come twelve miles over a rough mountain. I made pre
tense of having to hurry back, but Emma and her father
insisted on my remaining all night. So "Donk" was put
into the stable and the good time commenced.
We first emptied "Doc's" bottle of corn juice; then I
bought a full one for "Doc" and me, and another of
apple brandy for Emma.
The woods were full of rough looking people who
came to get liquor and to have their pictures "took."
After supper "Doc," Emma and I had the front room
all to ourselves. We had started in for the night with
two full bottles. Toward bedtime I began to feel the
effects of the corn juice, and on the spur of the moment
did a foolish trick, which ended all right, though.
"Doc" suggested that I take out a policy in his insur
ance company for $1000. I told him that I had left
Texas suddenly, under a cloud, therefore didn't dare to
have my life insured in favor of any of my relatives
there; my idea being to give the impression that I had
committed a crime in Texas and had to skip out. Then
"Doc" asked if I didn't have a relative or friend outside
of that state who would appreciate $1000 in case of my
death. I answered "No." Here Emma with one of
her sweet innocent smiles, asked me to have the policy
made out in her name.
I was never known to be a "piker," or to show that I
was not a "dead game sport" when it comes to dealing
with pretty girls, so consent was given and the policy
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 421
was made out with Emma as the holder of the stakes in
case I shuffled off this mortal coil.
The danger soon flashed across my addled brain that
when I visited the tough town of Donkey, Virginia, I
might be considered worth more to Emma dead than
alive. Still, I was too "blooded" to "crawfish" now, at
the commencement of the game.
There was one redeeming feature in the transaction,
it was an accident policy, so that if they tried to kill me
and failed, I would get paid for the wounds, myself.
The premiums were paid up for two months.
About midnight "Doc" and I retired in the broad-
gauge bedstead, while Emma occupied the narrow gauge
one near our feet. "Doc" slept next to the wall, so I
acted as barkeeper, the full quart bottle being on a chair
near my head.
I had just fallen asleep, when "Doc" dug me in the
ribs saying "Lloyd are you asleep? If you ain't, hand
over that bottle." Then we both took a drink. Soon
sleep began to creep over me, but for fear of being awak
ened again, I thought it best to give "Doc" another drink
in hopes of filling him up. But I didn't know then that
trying to fill "Doc" up would be like pouring sand in a
rat hole with the other end in China. The bottle was
emptied just as day was breaking, then we both got our
first good sleep.
When breakfast was called I got up feeling good —
no sign of headache which follows the free use of
liquor, not pure.
It was agreed that I join "Doc" and his daughter at
John Craft's and accompany them home to Virginia.
422 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Before leaving with my full jugs for Whitesburg, I
gave Emma a quart bottle of apple brandy to keep up
her spirits on the way home.
Arriving in Whitesburg I made preparation to start
next morning for Craftsville.
The Holcombs and other friends begged me not to
risk a visit to the head of the Kentucky river in the
Potter neighborhood and to the tough town of Donkey,
Virginia. They cited countless cases of murders and
robberies committed in those places. Miss Lizzie Hoi-
comb especially pleaded with me not to go. She and I
had become a little "sweet" on each other, though we
did our courting on the sly, as I told her that she was
too nice to be seen at public gatherings and out riding
with me, as I hadn't finished sowing my wild oats, and
that I might be seen at any time drunk and in company
with bad women, which would be a reflection on her
character if she kept company with me.
The poor innocent girl couldn't understand why a man
of my age and apparent intelligence should want to
scatter wild oats over the country. Miss Lizzie was a
pure Christian girl, and she had never had her eye
teeth cut in the ways of the world. She tried hard to
reform me, but the more she preached reform, the worse
I seemed to get. Of course it pained me to act against
my conscience in this way, but it was "business." I
had started out to graduate in the big Dickenson College,
therefore I didn't propose to be branded as a "quitter,"
just for the sake of upholding goodness and purity.
That night the county jailer, Boney Isum, a nice fel
low, who had won his spurs and been elected county
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 423
jailer through the fact of having recently killed a U. S.
revenue officer near Whitesburg, brought Ashford N.
from the jail to my room at Holcomb's, and with the as
sistance of the two jugs of liquor we made "Rome
howl" until the roosters crowed for day. Boney Isum
loved liquor, and he was a good judge of its purity, as
he and his forefathers before him had conducted "moon
shine" stills in the face of Uncle Sam and his standing
army.
During the early part of the evening, Sol Holcomb
spent his time in my room with Boney, Ashford and me,
and in order to be in the "swim," Mrs. Holcomb, Lizzie,
the little girl Alberta, and the fifteen-year-old boy
Andrew, drank what they called "stugh," made of
whisky, sugar and hot water.
Next morning with two quarts of liquor in my saddle
pockets, I started for Craftsville, where the night was
spent with the widow Bee Craft and her family.
Early next day I joined "Doc" S. and his pretty
daughter at John Craft's, and we started up the river
for Donkey, Va.
The girl rode behind her father on the large white
horse. I carried the photo outfit on "Donk."
We passed through the noted Potter settlement and
put up for the night at Bentleys.
During the forenoon next day, some pictures were
"took" as per advertised schedule; that is, advertised by
word of mouth, as there were no newspapers in the
county.
After dinner we left the extreme head of the Kentucky
river and began to climb up the western slope of the
424 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Black Mountain range, the top of which is the divid
ing line between Kentucky and Virginia. On reaching
the highest point of the range, "Doc" pointed out the
lay of the country. From this black mountain of the
great Cumberland range, flow four large rivers, the
Kentucky to the west, the Cumberland to the southwest,
the Sandy to the north and the Pound river to the east
ward. The heads of all these rivers were now in sight
and at our feet. It was certainly a grand view of a
heavily timbered country settled only on the streams,
except in certain spots.
Then we rode into the noted Pound Gap, where two
houses, one a residence and the other a saloon, stand.
They are on the line of Kentucky and Virginia, and are
owned by the notorious "man-killer" Britt Potter, whom
I found later to be a nice fellow, though a little blood
thirsty at the mention of the Wright family, who had
reduced the male members of the Potter fireside with
hot lead.
The saloon had been closed by law since both Letcher
County, Kentucky, and Wise County, Virginia, had
adopted local option. Then Britt had moved down the
river a few miles to where his father Abraham Potter
lived. Here Britt is training his little boys to shoot.
One of them became impatient one day because there
were no Wright boys in sight, so killed his own brother,
by shooting him in the head while he slept.
Just after passing through Pound Gap we came to the
spot where a few years previous, the whole Mullens fam
ily, all but one boy, who was fleet of foot, were ambushed
and killed for their money, the old man having just sold
his land and was leaving Kentucky.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 425
"Doc" and I climbed the large rock behind which the
five assassins were concealed.
As soon as the boy, whose suspenders were cut in
two with a bullet where they crossed in the back, spread
the news, "Doc" S. was one of the first to join the offi
cers and go on trail of the assassins. They came to
gether in a house, and when the smoke of battle cleared
away "Doc" was branded for life with a bullet through
his face from one side to the other. In the flight one of
the officers crossed the dark river of death, and so did
some of the outlaws. The balance were captured and
sent to the pen.
A few miles down the mountain side through the tall
timber, we came to the first house, owned by "Doc" S's
brother-in-law, Brennan. Here we "liquored up" and
warmed by the fire.
About three miles further, we came to the only Donkey
town on earth. It contained only one store and about
one dozen houses. "Doc" owned the two story frame
house across the street or road from the store, and a
farm south of the swift flowing Pound river.
Mrs. "Doc" S. and the five small children were happy
over Miss "Mousie's" return, she being the oldest child,
and her mother being an invalid. In Donkey I found that
Miss Emma was known by the name of "Mousie," al
though not ratified.
The older boys took our saddle animals to the stable
across the river, while "Doc" and I walked a few hun
dred yards down the river to old man Eli S's. Here I
was introduced to "Doc's" father and mother, his brother
Gregg and his wife and his pretty black eyed sister Lil-
426 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
lie, whose age was twenty-six. The old man being an in
valid, spent most of his time propped up in bed in the
front room which faces the main road.
After the old man had been assured by "Doc" that I
was "true blue" and all right, the different kinds of
liquors, apple brandy, mint brandy, blackberry wine and
doctored "moonshine" which would kill a mule as it was
full of "lye-ball," were pulled from under the bed which
was the old man's "blind tiger" and his way of making
a living. Then the drinking began and ended when
"Doc" and I were called home to supper.
Before leaving old man S's I had to promise to be their
guest the following night. Here the thought of the in
surance policy in favor of "Mousie" came flashing
through my memory, and I wondered if they would
try to kill me by poison or bullets. I hoped they would
use the bullet method, for then I could bring old Colts
45 into play and stand a chance to win some of the in
surance money by only getting wounded. Many in
Whitesburg and at Craftsville had warned me to steer
clear of old man S's "blind tiger" which they said was
a death trap. Therefore my mind was in shape to ex
pect anything.
We retired early at "Doc's," and I slept soundly as
the door to my room was locked so that no one could
get in to play for that thousand dollar prize.
Next day I put in my time horseback riding with Miss
Lillie S., and buying sweets, calico and ribbons for the S.
kids, including Miss "Mousie."
That evening I became the guest of Eli S. and his
family.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 427
After the chicken supper we all congregated in the
front room where the liquor was stored, and where a
fire blazed in the old fashioned fireplace. "Doc" had
joined us. Soon Miss Lillie got out her guitar and com
menced to play and sing. One of her songs worked me
up to a high pitch; it set me wild. It ran thus:
"Oh meet me in the moonlight
When all alone,
For a story I have to tell
And it must be told alone."
Her sweet, low voice seemed to fit the song to per
fection. I couldn't buy the drinks fast enough to suit
myself and to encourage her to play and sing the same
song over and over again. I was in an earthly Heaven.
The different kinds of liquor helped matters along, and
so did Miss Lillie's meet me in the moonlight glances.
Music and singing had not had such an effect on me
since 1882 in St, Louis, Mo., when I cut up a fine parlor
qhair.
I had just landed in St. Louis and bought a new
suit of "hand-me-down" clothes. The Jew who sold
them couldn't induce me to discard my cowboy hat and
high heel boots, nor could my sister or her up-to-date
husband.
One day while walking down Fourth street a well
dressed Southern gentleman gave me his hand and asked
if I was not from Texas. Then we had a few rounds of
drinks. This gentleman proved to be one of the wealthy
ex-skve-owning Terrys of Wharton county, Texas, ad
joining the county of Matagorda where I was born. I
had heard of the great Terry plantation when a small
boy.
428 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Nothing would do Mr. Terry but that I visit his resi
dence. He said that he had just married a young lady
and wanted to show her what a real Texas cowboy was
like. I went. On our arrival the elegant parlor was
filled with elegantly dressed ladies, but no gentlemen.
After being introduced to the ladies, a plush mahogany
chair was given me to sit in. I was very cautious and
sat down gently so as not to spoil the delicate thing.
Here Mr. Terry asked his beautiful young wife to play
a few of her favorite pieces on the piano, as I would no
doubt enjoy music of that kind after so many years of
sleeping and eating out doors. The lady's sweet singing
is what upset me. My mind was centered on the pretty
singer, while no doubt many eyes were centered on me.
When Mrs. Terry quit playing and wheeled around on
her stool to see what effect her singing had had on me,
I came back to my right senses. I found myself sitting
on one foot, which was under me on the plush-bottom
chair seat. The other foot was up on one of the chair
rounds, and in my right hand was a sharp I. X. L.
pocketknife with which the chair had been whittled to
ruination. The brussels carpet was strewn with ma
hogany shavings.
I didn't realize that there was anything wrong until
Mr. Terry began to yell and laugh. Finally Mrs. Terry
broke into a laugh. The older ladies were too much
mortified to even smile. I insisted on paying for the
chair, but Mr. Terry wouldn't hear to it. He said this
was worth more than a dozen chairs to him, as his wife
had been begging him to round up a real live Texas
cowboy and bring him home so she could see what they
looked like.
THE AUTHOR AS HE APPEARED WHEN HE WHITTLED
THE CHAIR.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 429
After getting over my blushing, I confessed that it
was Mrs. Terry's pretty face and sweet voice which did
the damage.
Whittling on boxes and ranch benches had become a
fixed habit with me, hence cutting the chair.
"Doc" went home early. Mrs. Gregg S. had gone to
bed in another room, and the old lady had gone to bed
by the side of her husband in the room that we were
celebrating in.
About i :oo A. M. Gregg and I were pretty well
"loaded," under the influence of the mixed drinks.
Finally my head began to swim and I became deathly
sick. The thought of having been poisoned flashed
through my mind. I asked to be shown to my room, so
that I could lie down, but my real intention was to slip
out of the house and try to find Mr. Gibson's place in
the upper end of the town.
"Nels" Craft had told me that if I got into trouble in
Donkey to hunt up his friend Gibson, who was a square
man. He had described the house to me.
Gregg conducted me into the adjoining front room
and insisted that he was going to sleep with me. This
settled the matter in my mind, — it was a sure case of
poisoned to get the $1000 life insurance and the money I
had with me.
I started to the front door, telling Gregg that I was
going outside to sit down and get some fresh air. He
said that he would go along too. Then I got mad, and
with my hand on the handle of old Colts 45 which was
sticking in the waistband of my pants, I told Gregg to
stay right where he was and to keep away from me. No
430 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
doubt if he wasn't too drunk he could see the fire flashing
from my eyes, for I meant business. When I opened
the door and stepped out into the darkness, he called to
me saying he would leave the door open so I could find
my way back by the lamp light.
It had been raining, and the road which followed the
bank of the river was very muddy, almost knee deep in
some places. It was too dark and my head was in too
much of a whirl to see the footpath on the side of the
hill, so I kept the middle of the road, and twice fell
down in the mud, but I strained every nerve to reach
Gibson and tell him that I had been poisoned.
About two hundred yards above "Doc's" house I came
to a place answering the description of Gibson's. I
knocked on the door and a rough mountaineer in his
night clothes admitted me to the inside. He informed
me that his name was Gibson and that "Nels" Craft was
a friend of his. Then he was told my suspicions of
being poisoned. He replied: "I saw you out riding
this evening and I'm not surprised. You ought to have
known better."
Mr. Gibson held the candle while my muddy boots and
outer clothing were being pulled off, and when the pistol
was jerked out and placed under the pillow, he gave a
jump as though startled.
I then fell over on the cot and he pulled the cover over
me. In a moment I was dead to the world.
Soon after daylight, the noise of Gibson's building a
fire in the front room woke me up, and on finding my
self not dead from the supposed poison administered by
the S's, I was ashamed of myself.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 431
My outer clothing was a sight, with the mud still
adhering to them, but they were put on.
Before leaving, Mr. Gibson promised that he would
not tell of my poison suspicions. He was told that I
intended to fix up a story about getting lost and finding
his place by accident.
In passing "Doc" S.'s house on my way to the old
man's "Mousie" who was outside splitting kindling for
the morning fire, spied me. She came running out to
the fence saying: "Oh Mr. Lloyd, where have you
been? They are all crazy down to grandpa's. They
have been up all night searching for you in the river and
everywhere. Uncle Gregg came after papa to help find
you. They thought you fell into the river."
I explained to "Mousie" of how I got drunk and went
outside to get some fresh air, and sitting down on a
rock fell asleep, and that when I woke up I took the
wrong direction and found myself at Gibson's house, and
was put to bed.
There was great rejoicing on my arrival at old man
S.'s place. They felt sure that I had fallen over the bank
into the river and was drowned. Their greatest worry
seemed to be over the chance of the story getting out
that I had been robbed and murdered, and if my body
was never found, of people thinking that it had been con
cealed to hide the crime.
I made up for my misconduct by going to bed like a
gentleman that night.
About midnight Gregg and I opened the front door
to go outside before retiring for the night. This woke
up the old lady and in an excitable voice she called out:
432 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
"Oh, Gregg, come back here, don't you take Mr. Lloyd
off and lose him again."
The chances are the S.'s don't know to this day the
true story of my getting lost in Donkey.
It shows how a man's mind can be worked up by hear
ing false tales about people. While the S.'s were hand
ling liquor contrary to law, I had no fear of being
harmed by them after learning their true natures.
After this I made other trips to Donkey, and Gregg and
I rode out to "moonshine" stills in the wildest part of
the mountains, and so far as the S.'s were concerned, I
felt perfectly safe.
On one of these trips to Donkey I saw "Doc's" courage
and "Mousie's" cooking tested.
"Doc" and I had walked down to old man S.'s to
"liquor up" a little when we heard much shooting up
at the store. Soon a man came down to tell "Doc" to
keep hid out as his most bitter enemy was drunk and
hunting for him to kill him on sight. It was this enemy
who was doing the shooting at the store. He and his
partner had just come down from their "moonshine"
still on the Black Mountain with the intention of wiping
Donkey off the face of the earth, just because "Doc" S.
lived in the place.
"Doc" had left his pistol at home and he couldn't get
to it unseen without a long walk over the hills. He
asked for the loan of mine so that he could face this
enemy and give him the opportunity of putting him out
of business. I loaned "Doc" my old Colts 45 as I was
anxious to have her tested in a hind-to-hand battle by
some one else besides myself.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 433
With the pistol in his hand held behind him under his
coat, "Doc" started for the store and I with him. In
front of the store there were several men. One of them
stood on the edge of the store platform facing "Doc's"
house. In his hands he held a Winchester rifle, and
around his waist was strapped a large pistol. He had
been firing the Winchester rifle into a dirt bank just
under "Doc's" door yard, so as to bring "Doc" out of
the house.
The wild and woolly "moonshiner" had just reloaded
his rifle magazine with more cartridges when "Doc" and
I stepped upon the store platform behind him. Just then
"Mousie" stepped into the side yard and the "bad" man
fired a bullet near her. "Doc" stepped up almost to the
fellow's side and in a cool, low, voice told him that if he
shot again he would kill him. The fellow turned his head
slowly around and saw "Doc" by his side, but he made
no effort to bring the rifle around towards his bitter
enemy. There both stood like statues, neither saying a
word. The suspense was a strain on my nerves, as 1
wanted to hear old Colts 45 talk while a brave man's
finger was on the trigger.
At this moment Ike Potter and four companions from
Kentucky, rode up, and seeing the situation, Ike Pot
ter called the "bad" man by name and asked him to step
out to him. This he did. A few words were spoken.
Then the "bad" man walked in the mud by the side of
the horsemen and all disappeared down the road. When
below old man S.'s the shooting began again. Two days
later we heard that this "moonshiner" was in jail for
shooting up the county seat, Wise, Va.
28
434 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
When "Doc" handed me back old Colts 45 after we
had entered his home, I imagined that I could see the
poor pistol shedding briny tears over the chance she had
missed of showing her abilities, when it came to punctur
ing human flesh; for I had been a cruel master and for
twenty odd years had kept her in restraint.
Now about "Mousie" and her cooking; I had been to
the railroad towns of Glaymorgan, Wise, and Norton,
Virginia, and I had promised Miss "Mousie" to be back
in Donkey on a certain day, sure. She had agreed to get
me up a swell supper with her own hands.
On my way back to Donkey on the appointed day, I
stopped at Pound, two miles below Donkey, where there
is a postoffice, and there found "Doc's" oldest boy and
the fat white horse. The boy and I rode home together.
He could talk of nothing else but the good things
"Mousie" was cooking for my supper. He said she had
been baking pies and cakes all day.
But holy smoke and little fashes, what a deceitful world
this is. I had to look pleasant and pretend that "Mousie"
was the best cook in the world. Besides, I had to fill
my stomach with pie, cake and biscuits which would have
taken a week to digest, had it not been for the goodnight
kiss received before retiring. Still, the poor girl did
her best, which couldn't have been worse from an indi
gestion standpoint.
I felt satisfied that the people around Donkey, Crafts-
ville and the Potter settlement had nothing to do with
the kidnapping of young Wentz. Furthermore, I was
satisfied that he was dead, as I had got it from Ashford
N. and Mrs. Lottie H., both of whom no doubt knew
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 435
what they were talking about. Ashford had assured me
that he was dead and would never bother Kentuckians
again, and Lottie said she knew that he had been killed
for the cruel way in which he and his men had treated
her and Birdie, and for killing her half brother Daniels,
though she didn't know what had been done with the
body. She said the parties who had done the job kept
the matter to themselves ; that all she cared to know was
that he had been killed.
On top of Black Mountain, at the head of the Cumber
land river, on the road leading from Whitesburg to
Stonaga, Va., several citizens of Letcher County, Ky.,
had owned saloons which were run in defiance of the
laws of Wise county, Va., and Letcher county, Ky.
These saloon buildings were built on the line of the two
states, half in Kentucky and half in Virginia, so that
when officers of one state would try to make an arrest
the saloon fixtures and goods were moved into the op
posite end of the building over the state line.
One of these saloons had been run by Lottie H.,
her sixteen-year-old daughter Birdie, and her half
brother Daniels, with the help of her nineteen-year-old
son Jim.
Another saloon at the same place had been run by my
fat friend Monroe W. who had lately married Lottie H.'s
oldest daughter.
The other saloon had been run by Ashford N.
The Wentz Company owned the coal mines at Stonaga,
Va., about three miles down the mountain side from these
above mentioned saloons. Dan and Ed Wentz, sons of
millionaire Dr. Wentz, of Philadelphia, Pa., were in
436 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
direct charge of these mines, and they objected to these
saloons being located so near, on account of their em
ployes being made drunk.
One night a raid was made on the saloons. In the
fight which followed the town marshal, King, of Stonaga,
was shot and killed, an so was Lottie H.'s half brother,
Daniels. The liquor was destroyed and the buildings
sawed in two. The half in Kentucky was left standing
while the other part was hauled away or burnt up. Lot
tie H. and her daughter Birdie were marched through the
mud afoot, and placed in jail at Wise, Va. And for
this crime against blue-blooded Kentuckians, Ed. and
Dan Wentz were doomed to die, though after Ed. was
kidnapped Dan kept out of the way, so that he couldn't
be caught unawares.
This is the story told me in confidence by Lottie H.
She gave me the full details of the fight from beginning
to end, all except the manner in which Ed. Wentz was
put out of the way, and this she claimed not to know,
as her friends who had the matter in charge kept it a
secret.
While Lottie didn't confess it as a fact, she gave me
to understand that Monroe W. and his money were
leading factors in the plot, and that was why he tried to
run me out of the country; that he supposed I had just
come from Virginia to run down the Wentz mystery,
and that when he found that I had come from Jackson,
Ky., he thought maybe I might be all right, though she
said he was always suspicious and uneasy and advised her
not to associate with me for fear she might let some
thing drop, as I might be a detective on the Wentz case.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 437
I had become so "solid" with Lottie H. that Monroe
W. and his gang couldn't break our friendship. I had
confided in her as to a killing of two men in Texas in
which fight I took part, and I had let her read all my
Texas and New Mexico letters on the subject. While
I had hoped that she would let the secret out of my be
ing an outlaw, she didn't do it. She was just as true as
steel to me and kept her promise not to give me away.
Lottie H. had a farm two miles below Whitesburg on
the Kentucky river. She was a fairly good-looking
middle-aged woman of more than the average intelli
gence. With her lived Birdie and Jim with his young
wife Ollie, and a younger son and a daughter Mary.
Lottie H. was a sister of Sheriff Ed. Callihan of
Brethitt county, Kentucky, who soon after was arrested
for bloody murders committed in and around his home
town of Jackson.
Many were the murders committed through this hon
orable officer of the law, as told to me by Lottie H. He
had formerly been a member of the noted Hatfield gang
of the McCoy-Hatfield feud notoriety.
I was given the details of a late cold-blooded murder
committed through sheriff Callihan of Brethitt county.
He owned a big mercantile establishment in the country
east of Jackson. A man started a store in the same
neighborhood, and in order to get rid of this store
sheriff Callihan hired his brother-in-law S. to kill the
owner.
One day S. with some picked witnesses drove up to
the opposition store in a wagon and raised a fuss about
a log hook which had been borrowed. S. shot the man
dead.
438 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
There being some uncertainty about the result of the
trial in Jackson, the jury had to be bought at quite a
cost to Lottie H.'s brother. S. came clear, and later ap
peared on the scene in Virginia where Ed. Wentz was
kidnapped. After the kidnapping of Wentz he married
Lottie H.'s daughter Birdie. He had "shook" her and
returned to Brethitt county just previous to my arrival.
From what I could learn he had a hand in getting away
with Ed. Wentz.
I put in much of my time at Lottie H.'s drinking,
dancing and having a big time. I also kept up my
carouses with Ashford N. in my room in Whitesburg,
through the assistance of the jailer, Boney Isum.
In order not to disturb the sleep of the Holcomb fam
ily, I had Mrs. Holcomb fit me up a room in a log cabin
away from the main residence. Here Ashford N. kept
his jug of liquor and often slept with me, the deputy or
jailer coming after him in the morning.
Ashford told me all about young Wentz passing him
in the road near Kellyville, Va., on the morning of his
disappearance, but he wouldn't say that he had a hand
in getting away with him, though he indicated as much
and seemed to want to impress me with the fact that
he did.
A good deal of my work now was over on the head
of the Cumberland river, where I used to get "moon
shine" fresh from the illicit stills. I had gained a "foot
hold," and "moonshiners" were not afraid of me now.
On one of these trips to a "moonshine" still with Ash
ford N/s chum, Brown, who lived over on the Cumber
land river at the foot of the southern end of the Black
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 439
Mountain near where that bunch of saloons were cut in
two, I secured some information about Ed. Wentz. I
learned that he was dead, and that he had been taken
from his horse alive by three men.
Brown and the few people in his wild out-of-the-way
neighborhood were very bitter against the Wentzes and
their company for having gobbled up vast stretches of
valuable coal and timber land, and their interference with
the liquor traffic.
In riding over the mountains with Brown in search
of pure "moonshine" I was told many blood-curdling
tales of murder in which Brown had figured, and from
others I found he had told the truth. He was honest
enough though to -acknowledge that the people of these
mountains didn't give enemies a chance to fight for their
lives ; hence they are generally shot from ambush, which
he thinks is the proper way. He himself has been shot
clear through the body, and he showed me the wounds.
I traded my mule off to Brown on this trip. While
on the way to a "moonshine" still he pulled out $40
and offered it as boot between my "Donk" and his small
three-year-old blue roan pacing stallion. I accepted and
saddles were changed.
In this trade I won a prize, for he was the swiftest
natural pacer and the best piece of young horseflesh
that had ever been straddled by an ex-cowpuncher.
As to searching for pure "moonshine," I will state that
much of the "moonshine" in these mountains is doctored
by adding "lye-ball," pure concentrated lye. With one
gallon of pure "moonshine" liquor and one ball of lye,
about three gallons can be made, and only an expert
440 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
can tell the difference, though one's stomach soon finds
it out.
Through the teachings of the S. boys, in Donkey, and
Ashford N., I had become an expert in knowing the
difference between the pure and the adulterated liquor.
Towards spring, Ed. Wentz's body was found by acci
dent in a wild heavily timbered country three miles from
where his horse and saddle had been found on the night
of his disappearance. It was found near Kellyville, Va.,
on the eastern slope of the Black Mountains directly
over the mountain from the head of the Cumberland
river in Kentucky.
Our Asst. Supt. Estin of the Philadelphia office hur
ried to the spot to view the body before it had been
moved. He found that young Wentz had been shot
through the heart and placed on top of some logs in a
reclining position. Down the hill from the body lay his
pistol with one chamber empty, to give the idea of
suicide, and also his eye glasses, hat, etc. Mr. Estin in
formed me later, that it would have been impossible for
Wentz had he shot himself, to have reached the spot
where the body was found, he having been shot through
the heart. Estin also said that the body had no doubt
been placed where it was found at least a month after
he had been kidnapped; for when he disappeared the
forest leaves had just begun to fall, and under the body
the leaves were plentiful, showing that his body had
been put there after the leaves had fallen.
Furthermore, after the young man's horse had Deen
found, Dr. Wentz and his son Daniel had hired hundreds
of men who scoured the woods for ten miles square in
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 441
the neighborhood of where the horse and saddle were
found. The coal mines at Stonaga had been closed down
and all the men turned out to search for the missing
man. They were divided up into gangs and walked
abreast through the thick woods, so that every foot of
ground could be searched. It was done systematically.
Mr. Estin says that men who were in this searching
party claim that they remember going over the spot
where the body was found, and had it been there they
couldn't have helped seeing it.
The body was in good shape, with the exception of
the right hand being cut off. The hand was never
found, and here hangs a tale.
Shortly after young Wentz's disappearance his father
began to receive mysterious letters offering to free Ed.
Wentz for certain sums of money up into the hundreds
of thousands of dollars. Finally a letter came from San
Francisco, Cal., that if a large sum of money was not put
in a certain place and an advertisement put in the per
sonal columns of the San Francisco Examiner, stating
that all was O. K., his son would be killed and his right
hand sent to him to prove that their threat had been car
ried out.
The chances are that young Wentz had been held alive
for a month or so in hopes of a ransom from his father,
and when their scheme failed they took him to the spot
where the body was found and fired a bullet from his
own pistol into his heart. Then laid the body on the
limbs of the dead tree where it was discovered by men
hunting cows. The hand may have been cut off with the
intention of sending it to Dr. Wentz, but later decided
442 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
to be a dangerous thing to do, as it might lead to detec
tion. Again, the hand may have been lost before the
time came for sending it.
I found out that Lottie H. had relatives living thirty
miles from San Francisco, Cal. She kept up a cor
respondence with them. I had seen their letters ; hence if
Monroe W. and his gang had young Wentz secreted
in the mountains they could have had that threatening
letter mailed in San Francisco by their relatives. One
of these male relatives came to Whitesburg from Cali
fornia after my arrival on the scene, and I became well
acquainted with him.
There is one thing sure, — if the gang above referred
to didn't commit the crime, then Lottie H. and Ashford
N. wanted to leave the impression on my mind that they
did, and were therefore revenged.
Dr. Wentz would have paid any amount of money for
the return of his son alive, but he had received other
mysterious letters which had been run down and found
to have been written by "cranks." Besides, the time
allowed in the letter referred to above was too short,
considering the great distance from San Francisco to
Philadelphia, to meet the demand before the time set
for the killing and the cutting off of the hand.
After the body of Ed. Wentz had been taken to Phila
delphia for burial. I made frequent trips into Virginia
along the railroad which skirts the foot of Black moun
tain, from Stonaga, through Appalachia, Kellyville and
Norton, and Wise, the county seat.
Near Kellyville lived a man named Hubbard, and his
family, and they were thought to know something of
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 443
the crime, as young Wentz's horse and saddle had been
found in the road leading to Kellyville by two young
men who were stopping at the Hubbard place.
Hubbard was known to run a "blind tiger," selling
liquor against the law and keeping a hard gang around
him. Therefore I worked on Hubbard and his two
daughters; and here I became acquainted with one of
Ashford N.'s brothers who was in the "moonshine"
liquor business.
I satisfied mself that Hubbard and his family had
nothing to do with the murder of Wentz, but not so
with the brother of Ashford N.
In working on the Hubbard girls I bumped into some
more cooking of the M. S. brand.
Ashford N. was always glad at my return to Whites-
burg, for it meant a jolly time with plenty to drink in
my log cabin.
Finally, Ashford longed for liberty. He still had about
two months to serve behind the bars. He decided to
break jail, and my influence was used where it would do
the most good in pushing matters along.
The night for the escape was planned. It was agreed
that I leave some liquor at Dicie F's on Big Cowan
Creek, as "Ash" might be dry when he reached there
on the way to Brown's place.
Dicie F. was the woman wounded Christmas day by
Shepard when he shot and killed Riley Webb. She lived
in what was called a tough neighborhood. Jailer Boney
I sum had introduced me into society over there. A
relative of his had one of his wives living next to Dicie
F's. She was a tall muscular young woman with two
444 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
healthy babies and the regulation low water mark on her
neck. She split her own rails and put in her own crops.
All she asked of hej lord was that he visit her once in
awhile to see how the crops were getting on. Her lord's
main wife and half a dozen children lived eight miles
from this girl, therefore no danger of hair pullings.
-Boney Isum had only one wife anchored, and she
lived at the jail.
In these mountains nothing is thought of a man hav
ing half a dozen "wives." One fellow of the Brigham
Young build, who lives at the head of the Kentucky river,
has seven women, and all have raised large families, and
all have the stamp of being chips from the old block.
It would be a safe wager to bet that one-third of the pop
ulation of these mountains are of illegitimate birth.
When Ashford N. broke jail he put in the first night
down at Lottie H's, and the next night at Dicie F's;
thence to Brown's place. No one suspected me of be
ing on the inside. He could serve me better by being a
free man. My plans had been laid for the future, when
a full confession of the Wentz murder was almost cer
tain.
During the winter I had made three trips out to civi
lization, once to Bristol, Tenn., once to Knoxville, Tenn.,
and the other time to Huntington, West Va. These
trips were made to meet Supt. Bearce, or Asst. Supt.
Estin to get a new supply of money. My horse would
be left in a livery stable at Norton, or Appalachia, Va.
While in Knoxville I went to see the saloon building
which is now used as a restaurant, where "Kid" Curry
made such a brave fight, shooting two officers.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 445
While in the mountains of Kentucky and Virginia I
learned all the tricks of beating the Government in the
licensed still business. I visited several stills so as to
get onto these tricks, which are many.
I had made arrangements to start a licensed still in
partnership with Lottie H's son Jim. The site was
selected up in the head of a gulch on the Lottie H. farm.
When this news leaked out Lottie said that Monroe W.
objected and swore it shouldn't be started. After this
I received private warnings through friends to keep
away from Lottie H's or I would be killed; but I never
could find out who made the threats, or whether they
were made on account of the Wentz matter or love for
Lottie H. and her daughter Birdie. A wealthy and in
fluential citizen was "dead stuck" on Lottie, and since
my arrival on the scene she had grown cold towards
him. He often came to see her while I was at the house,
and he wouldn't speak to me. His son R. was in love
with Birdie. It wasn't known for certain which I loved
the more, as I played "sweet" on both; therefore these
threats may have come through jealously.
On two occasions I suspected a trap laid for me, but I
was too "foxy" to put my foot into it.
A fellow known as "In the Woods" Brown had tried
to lead me into the trap, so I suspected. He had once
made an unsuccessful attempt to assassinate merchant
Jim Eraser and when caught, confessed that he did it
for $50. But it was said that all of his attempts had not
proved failures.
While in Whitesburg my reports were all mailed to
different addresses in the far west, and all my mail came
446 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
from that country. We were lucky in having an honest
intelligent young man, Samuel Collins, for postmaster in
Whitesburg, otherwise my mail would have been
tampered with, for he told of the inducements offered
him for some of my mail. These inducements had been
offered when I first came to the country, and I suspected
Monroe W. as being the gentleman who had tried to
"work" young Sam Collins. Of course the postmaster
didn't say that he had been offered money, but that cer
tain parties were suspicious of me and wanted him to let
them have access to my mail.
During the month of May when my plans were ripe
for starting the whisky still with Jim H., I had been re
quested by our Philadelphia officials to give my opinion
as to whether convictions could be secured against the
murderers of young Wentz, if convincing proof was se
cured. I gave it as my opinion that it was a waste of
money to try to convict any of these people, owing to
the fact that most of the settlers and their offspring are
related either by blood or marriage, and of the further
fact of the bitter feeling against the Wentz company.
A good deal of this hatred had been brought about
through the Wentz's arresting men for cutting bee trees
and trespassing on company land.
In the meantime while waiting for money to start the
still, I was learning all the ins and outs of the still busi
ness.
It was Jim H.'s and my intention to establish our
liquor warehouse on top of Black mountain on the lots
owned by his mother. Then we would have Ashford N.
and a few men of his stamp peddle liquor on the sly
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 44?
among the coal miners in Stonaga and the other coal
camps nearby. I had also visited Middlesboro, Ky., to
learn the licensed still business. The Ball brothers,
there being four of them, were friends of Jim H. They
owned a still and four saloons in that town. Since then,
these Ball brothers have gained notoriety on account of
killings, the state militia being called out to capture them
in their mountain stronghold.
One day I had been up the river to Sam W.'s place,
drinking "moonshine" and having a big time, Sam W.
being one of the "bad" mankillers of the country.
I arrived back in Whitesburg about sundown. Lottie
H. was in town on her mule. She asked me to ride home
with her as there was a drunken crowd in town and she
was afraid to go home in the dark. We started, and I
noticed R. and some of his drunken companions watch
ing us as we rode across the river, R. being a married
man who was in love with Birdie H. and jealous of me,
no doubt.
On reaching Lottie H.'s home I ate supper, after
which Lottie and I sat on the porch talking. Birdie and
her younger sister Mary had gone to bed. Lottie tried
to persuade me to stay all night, but I refused under the
pretense that I could sleep late in the morning in my own
room and thereby get rested after my "big time" up the
river. But the truth of the matter was, I smelled a
"mice" from the way R. and his gang had acted when
Lottie and I rode out of town.
It was about 10:00 p. M. when I bade Lottie good
night and rode across the river into the main road. The
night was cloudy and dark, and my route lay along the
river bank in the shadow of tall trees.
448 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
After going a quarter of a mile I saw the outlines of
four men afoot in the road coming towards me. On see
ing me they jumped over a rail fence and ran to a clump
of bushes in the field on my right, and hid. I rode
slowly past this thicket with my hand on old Colts 45.
A few hundred yards further up the road I met Lottie
H.'s hired man Day, coming from town on a mule. I
told him of the four men hiding in the thicket. Next
day in court Mr. Day testified that he had met me, and
of being told about the four men in the thicket, and of
how he had just got to bed when R. and three drunken
companions came into his room and wanted to know
where Lloyd was. On being told that I had gone home
R. said that must have been I who went up the road
when they hid. That then, he said, the gang went into
the room where Lottie H. and her two daughters were in
bed, and demanded to know where Lloyd was. They were
told that I had gone back to Whitesburg. Then the gang
commenced raising Hades. Soon after this, Lottie H.'s
nephew Jim D., who was a deputy sheriff, dropped
into Lottie's on his way from his sweetheart's place down
the river. Here a battle began, one against four, and
when the smoke cleared away the deputy sheriff lay
mortally wounded with a bullet through his body, while
two of R.'s companions were wounded from bullets fired
by Jim D.
Early that morning I was back to Lottie H.'s and did
all that was possible to relieve the suffering of the
wounded deputy sheriff. At midnight he died, and from
that time until morning the scene was affecting to even
calloused nerves like mine, for the dead man's brothers,
Jesse and Bob, cried all night.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 449
After we had all been singing religious songs around
the bedside of the corpse, old grandma H. got me to
one side and said : "I didn't think we would have to lay
poor Jim out so soon, but I did expect your death before
this. I know what I'm talking about. You have been
marked for death quite awhile. You have been warned
several times but you won't leave. Now you take my
advice and get out of this country just as quick as you
Can. I can't tell you all I know, but I don't want to see
you killed."
Grandma H.'s oldest son was the father of Lottie H.'s
children. He had been dead a couple of years.
One of R.'s wounded companions made a confession
on being arrested, and said that R. had furnished him
with a pistol to go down to Lottie H.'s and help raise
a fuss with me, so as to "do me up;" that he went by
R.'s house to get the extra pistol as he had none of his
own, while R. had two.
I continued to visit at Lottie H.'s as though grandma
H. had not given me the friendly warning.
Soon after, I received instructions from Asst. Supt.
Estin to sell my horse and outfit and meet him at a cer
tain hotel in Washington, D. C. In the letter he stated
that the operation would be closed as it was decided that
a conviction could not be had, no matter how strong the
proof.
After selling the horse and outfit, my friends were bade
goodby for a short time, as it was pretended that I was
going to return after a short visit to the World's Fair
in St. Louis, Mo.
I had made many warm friends in Whitesburg, among
450 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
them being Sam Collins the postmaster, and a young
lawyer, Wilson Field.
There are some good people in these mountains, and
others not so good. Their worst fault is their reckless
regard for human life. They think no more of killing
a man than of killing a wild beast. At least twenty
murders were committed in these mountains during my
short stay.
They also need education in their mode of living,
especially in their home life, wherein one wife is not con
sidered sufficient for one man. Also, they need bath
tubs. I failed to see one bath-tub in the counties of
Letcher, Perry and Knott. Possibly they are afraid of
wearing out should they wash too much.
One morning Mr. B. whose weight is 300, and who
is said to never have done a day's work in his life, al
though past middle-age, he being a king-bee of the
"moonshiners' " brigade, and I were to start early on
a squirrel hunt. On reaching his house he informed
me that he couldn't go hunting as this was his bath
day; that his wife kept track of it and was now heating
the water. He said he always took a bath regularly
every six months; that some people didn't believe in
bathing so often, but he did. Out in the back yard his
little delicate wife had two large kettles on the fire, as
though it was hog-killing day.
Another curse of this country is the marrying of first
and second cousins.
I was glad to get away from Whitesburg, for two
reasons one of which was to get beef to eat. I had not
seen or tasted a piece of beef in Kentucky during my
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 451
over seven months' stay, that is, away from the rail
roads. I was also anxious to get away from the sound
of banjos. Nearly every household has from one to
half a dozen of these instruments, and nearly every child
can pick the same tune. Some few can pick as many as
three or four tunes.
Regardless of my wild-oat sowing habits, pure-hearted
virtuous Lizzie Holcomb gave me a goodby kiss, with
a hope that I would reform and quit scattering oat-seed
broadcast over the land.
Before shaking the dust of the Kentucky mountains
from these pages, I will state that should any reader of
this book wish to see a dying man smile, he or she ought
to be present when the last breath is just leaving me,
and then mention Mrs. Sol Holcomb and the first four-
legged monkeys which were ever in Whitesburg.
A couple of Italians brought two trained monkeys to
Whitesburg. They were dressed up in human rigging
and performed on the main street which contained only
five stores and the overgrown court house. The town
turned out to see the monkey show. It was a circus
sure enough, but all the monkeyshines were not per
formed by the little "monks." There were others.
There were old gray headed men and women who
had never seen a monkey before. When it was all over
Mrs. Sol Holcomb came into the sitting room of her
house, perspiring like a "nigger" at an election. She
said : "Lor' bless my soul, I didn't know befo' that mon
keys was human beins ! I jess wouldn't of believed it."
Good-natured, easy-going little Sol Holcomb smiled
and said : "Why Bess, they ain't humans, they are jest
animals."
453 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Here Mrs. Sol got up on her high horse and with
her strong right arm bared to the elbow and pointed
towards her hubby said: "Now look a here Sol, don't
you dare tell me them ain't humans, for I knows better.
They are jess as much humans as any black nigger or
you either, Sol !"
I spent three days in Washington, D. C., on leaving
Kentucky, and there took in the sights. In Philadelphia
I stayed two days settling up the affairs of the Dr.
Wentz operation. Then Mr. Roy L. Dickenson phoned
for me to [come down to New York City. I arrived in
New York City on that morning, and most of the day
was spent with Mr. Royder Dickenson. He showed me
through every nook and corner of the large block owned
and occupied by the Dickenson agency. I also visited
with the other high officials, and the many assistant su
perintendents, too numerous to mention. That night I
went to a theater at the agency's expense.
Next day my old Denver friend, executive clerk Mr.
C. K. Hibben, showed me some of the great sights of the
city, and I took in Coney Island on an excursion
steamer.
Mr. Dickenson gave me permission to take in the
World's Fair in St. Louis, en route to Denver. But he
requested that I go from St. Louis to Chicago to Visit
Mr. W. L. Dickenson, as he might want to see me, though
I suspected this was done for my own pleasure to give
me a rest.
En route to St. Louis one night and part of one Sun
day were spent in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, which gave
me an opportunity of seeing part of that smoky city.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 453
In St. Louis I took in the World's Fair with my
sister and her family.
While in that city I also visited the Dickenson agency
under the supervision of Mr. Wobster, whom I already
knew.
Then I took the back track for Chicago to meet Mr.
Wm. L. Dickenson. He had no business for me, except
a desire that I go out to his residence and ride his new
$500.00 saddle-horse and give my honest opinion about
him, also that I take a look at his half dozen fine bull
terriers. The horse I found to be a "dandy." He was
certainly the finest gaited large horse that I ever strad
dled, but for real heavenly delight he couldn't hold a
candle to the little blue-roan sold in Kentucky by me
for $60.00.
While in Chicago I enjoyed the visit with Mr. Dick
enson and the superintendents and their assistants.
Shortly after my return to Denver, Supt. J. S. Kaiser
received a letter from Mr. W. L. Dickenson requesting
that I make out a bill for my personal expenditures while
taking in the World's Fair several days, and the agency
would pay it. I did as requested, and it pleased me, as
this is something employers seldom do.
Thus did the most interesting operation of my eighteen
years' connection with the Dickenson agency end. I had
been gone from Denver eight months.
CHAPTER XX
A MINING CASE IN KELLY, N. M. — BIG ROBBERY IN
PRESCOTT, A. T. — INCENDIARY CASE IN WYOM
ING — MRS. SHAW KIDNAPPING CASE IN PUEBLO,
COLO. — CHASE AFTER "BAD" MAN IN SONORA,
MEXICO — CATTLE CASE IN WYOMING AND MON
TANA — "FRENZIED FINANCE" OPERATION IN Ros-
WELL, N. M.
Soon after my return from the Dr. Wentz case in
Kentucky and Virginia, I was hurried south to Magda-
lena, New Mexico, on the A. T. & S. F. Ry. From
there I went to the mining camp of Kelly to meet Mr.
Cochran, the manager of the Kelly mine, on a stage
coach.
Mr. Cochran started me to work on certain mining
men of the camp to gain certain information for the
benefit of him and his associates.
My name here was Chas. T. Lloyd. I remained over
a month and did the work successfully.
En route back to Denver, Colo., I stopped off a few
days in Santa Fe to visit my pets at the Sunny Slope
ranch. Two of my pet horses, Lulu and "Glen" had
crossed over to the happy hunting ground where, if the
Indians' religion is correct, they may be ridden by the
noble red men on buffalo hunts. I felt grieved over their
death.
A few days spent in Denver and I was off for Chey-
454
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 455
enne, Wyo., to meet U. S. Marshal Hadsell and his
deputy Joe LaFors, and the client who is a high-up
statesman.
The Warren Live Stock Company had had their home
ranch on Pole Creek, twelve miles north of Cheyenne,
burnt along with a lot of stock, causing a loss of about
$40,000.00. It was known to have been set afire, but
there was no clue as to who did it. Joseph LaFors had
worked on the case and found suspicious circumstances
connected with an ex-convict named Bert H. Hence it
required that I win the confidence of cowboy Bert H.
and get a confession from him if he committed the
crime. Bert H. was known to be somewhere on the
Laramie plains about seventy-five miles north of Chey
enne.
In order to hail from the adjoining state, Nebraska,
I went there on a U. P. Ry. train, and from Sidney,
Nebraska, I took a B. & M. train to Torrington, Wyo
ming, near old Fort Laramie, where years before I had
attended dances on crutches. Here I bought a horse and
saddle and rode west for the Laramie Plains, several
days' ride distant.
Bert H. was found at the Jim K. ranch. He had a
contract to put up some wild hay for Jim K. He did the
hay-cutting all alone in the gulches and low places far
from the ranch, the country being wild and unsettled.
Bert H. and I became fast friends and we made trips
into the settlements. He told me all about himself and
we planned big horse-stealing raids into Nebraska. He
had been sent to the Wyoming pen for stealing horses,
and he now kept a small band running on the range as
a nest-egg to drawn on.
456 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
During this fall of 1904 while working on Bert H.
I took in the great cowboy tournament at the Frontier
Day Celebration in Cheyenne, and while there I was kept
jumping sideways to avoid running into Bert C. of
"Wild Bunch" fame and others whom I knew.
This cowboy tournament was a great treat to me,
especially the "bronco-busting" contests. The riders did
fine, but in the roping contests the ropers, as a whole,
were "on the bum," which would have been considered
disgraceful to the early-day cowboy. But this can be
accounted for by the fact of the present-day cowboy
not getting much every-day practice.
One day when Bert H. and I were five miles from the
Jim K. ranch we saw a streak of flying calico in the air.
As it drew nearer, we discovered it to be Mrs. Jim K.
sitting clothespin fashion on an old horse who was run
ning his best. As soon as the frightened lady could
get her breath she informed us that her only child, a
twelve year old boy had shot himself in the leg with a
pistol.
She and the boy were the only ones at home, as her
husband had gone away on a week's trip and their hired
man Joe Cruelty would not be back until night.
As the wounded boy had been left lying on the kitchen
floor alone, I put spurs to my horse and galloped to the
ranch while Bert H. followed with the team and wagon,
so as to take the boy to Chugwater station on the Chey
enne Northern Railroad about twenty miles west.
The boy was found on the floor badly frightened. I
discovered that the bullet was lodged deep down in the
calf of his leg. After bandaging the wound with wet
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 457
towels, first cleansing it with diluted carbolic acid, I be
gan to cheer him up, by laughing and telling him of the
value of bullet-marks in the making of a good cowboy.
He had a great desire to be a wild and woolly cow-
puncher.
By the time Mrs. K. arrived I had the boy laughing.
Then I explained the foolishness of making the trip
to Cheyenne, just to have the bullet cut out, at an expense
of at least $200.00, in the face of the future honor to be
derived from carrying lead in his flesh, as in old age
he could tell his grandchildren that he was packing
lead shot into him by wild Indians when the Laramie
plains was a howling wilderness. I assured the mother
that the boy would be well and on his feet in two weeks,
whereas in Cheyenne hospital he would be kept just as
long as she could be grafted out of the doctor's fees.
The result was, when Bert H. arrived there was no need
for the team, as the proposed trip to the railroad had
been given up.
I finally decided beyond a reasonable doubt, that Bert
H. had no hand in the burning of the Pole Creek ranch ;
therefore, I went near the line of Nebraska to work
out another clue which had been given by Senator War
ren and Joe LaFors.
On leaving the Laramie plains the wounded boy, who
was on crutches and out of danger, sold me one of his
half-starved Russian wolf-hound pups. He was all legs
and hair, and had never had a square meal, as the eight
dogs on the ranch were fed once a day on mush by the
hired man, Joe Cruelty, who only fed them half enough,
the few table scraps all going to his own two shepherd
dogs and Mrs. K.'s pet cats.
458 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
I named the pup "Jimmie Long-legs," as a name should
always be founded on facts, and the fact of Jimmie hav
ing long legs was a reality.
On leaving the ranch one morning to make a hard
ride without water, Jimmie played completely out and
couldn't navigate.
I was uncertain as to whether the bronco which I had
just traded for, would consent to carrying double, but
it was a case of "pushincy," — something had to be done
to get Jimmie to water.
Riding up by the side of the pup I reached down and
caught him by the nape of the neck. Then swinging him
across the saddle in front of me, the bucking contest be
gan. Here was a bronco-busting contest going to waste
on the desert with no one to see but the Lord, and if His
all-seeing eye gathered in any fun from this free show
He failed to let it be known by slapping me on the back
(and saying: "Well done thou good and faithful bronco
and dog buster." The pup was being "busted" too, or at
least would have been had his stomach contained any
thing but the lingering memory of his last mush supper.
Every time the bronco came down on his front feet
with his hind parts up in the air, my whole weight was
thrown against the pup's empty mushbasket, and of
course the air was full of yelps. I wanted to smile but
didn't have time.
On reaching the creek where there was a small lake,
I shot a mudhen for Jimmie. Then I had to pull off
my boots and pants and wade out into the muddy lake
to get the hen. While ripping the mudhen open prepar
atory to skinning the feathers off, the "purp" which was
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 459
sitting on his long tail eyeing the operation, smelled the
blood and made a grab for the hen. I tried to take it
away from him but he held on, so turning my hold
loose I told Jimmie to pick his own duck ; but bless you,
he ate feathers, bill, feet and all. It was rilling that he
was after, and not dainties.
Here I changed Jimmie's name to "Eat 'Em Up Jake"
and he retains that name to this day.
Later in Cheyenne City, I put E. E. U. J. in a crate
and expressed him to Santa Fe, New Mexico, there to
join my other pets.
My next few weeks' work solved the fire mystery.
The secret was locked up in the brains of two wealthy
brothers who had cattle on a thousand hills. They were
bitter enemies of Senator and his company. I
became quite chummy with one of them and he told me
enough to satisfy me as to their guilt.
I spoiled one scheme which the brothers were using
against the Company. They had an extra 'phone
instrument which was used to get the secrets passing
between Senator and his manager, Mr. Willson
in Cheyenne City, and the foreman of the Pole Creek
Home ranch. A wire would be attached to this private
telephone line and then fastened to the extra receiver on
the ground. My informant told me in confidence of how
after the fire, he lived on this telephone line catching all
the secrets of Joe LaFor's sleuthing work.
In Cheyenne city I met Senator at his home
and the case was discussed. We decided that it would
require a long siege at great expense to secure evidence
enough to convict, more so, as the secret was locked
460 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
up in the heads of two "foxy" men who had money to
fight the case to the bitter end.
The senator said that he would read the "riot act" to
these brothers so as to let them know that he knew of
their guilt and how they had stolen his secrets from the
telephone line, and how they used to kill and cripple his
fine range horses by running them into barbed wire
fences, one of their favorite schemes being to raise the
wires which fenced in a windmill and trough, so that the
thirsty Warren horses could crawl through to the water.
Then the wild animals would be stampeded through the
wire, many being ruined and some killed. On the
strength of this information from me, the senator dis
posed of his range horses.
It was agreed that the operation be discontinued,
therefore I returned to Denver.
My next operation out of the city was to Salt Lake,
Utah, to do secret work on a son of Banker O'Gormley
of that city; also on his friends, all young "bloods" and
"high rollers."
I passed myself off as a mining man and secured the
information wanted, relating to a copper mine and new
smelter in one of the southern territories. Then I
dropped out of sight and returned home.
Soon I was hurried off to Prescott, Arizona, to work
on a big robbery which had just taken place.
Jim S. was the treasurer of Yavapai County, Pres
cott being the county seat, and on the morning after
election, his party being defeated, S. was found by his
daughter bound and gagged, and locked in the vault
of the court house. All the cash, many thousands of
dollars, was gone.
'A COWBOY DETECTIVE 461
Jim S. claimed that two strangers overpowered him
after midnight and locked him in the vault, after which
they took the cash and skipped. But his bondsmen had
a suspicion that he did the job himself, hence the Dicken-
son agency being called into the case.
I arrived in Prescott, Arizona, about IO P. M., and
after securing a room strolled down "Whisky Row"
fronting the court house, and there on the street my
friend Joe Hobbs in company with the county treasurer
Jim S. was met. Of course I was introduced to S. and
we three went into a saloon to "irrigate."
This illustrates how good luck often helps a detective,
though it would have been an unlucky meeting had I
not previously played my cards right with Joe Hobbs.
He and I had been partners in a mine when I was work
ing on the Jersey Lillie mine-salting case. He had been
used then as a cat's paw to pull my chestnuts out of the
fire, and now I intended to use him again for the same
purpose, as he and S. were bosom friends.
Joe Hobbs knew me by the name of Lee Roy Davis,
therefore that name had to be used.
After midnight I invited Mr. Hobbs and S. to have a
feast with me, and while we were in a cafe eating, two
officers came in and arrested S. on a warrant sworn out
by his bondsmen.
Hobbs and I accompanied the Texas gentleman to jail
and saw him safely put to bed behind cold steel shutters.
Of course, my friend Hobbs was "hot under the col
lar" over the arrest being made at night when bonds
could not be given for his friend's release.
At 8 P. M. next day, in Lawlor's office, I met the
462 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
bondsmen who had employed the Dickenson agency.
They were: Mr. James Wardner, Mr. Tony Motts, Mr.
John Lawson, Mr. Robt. Howe and his partners in the
Palace saloon and theater, Messers Smith & Belcher.
They gave me all the facts in the case, of how Jim S. on
the morning after the election had been found by his
daughter who was the assistant treasurer, locked in the
vault and all the county funds gone.
My visits at the home of Mr. Hobbs were enjoyed, as
Mrs. Hobbs was a nice little soul and had three sweet
little children. Besides, she was a good cook and gave
me an opportunity of testing her culinary art. She was
a sister of my friend Joseph LaFors, the deputy U. S.
Marshal of Wyoming. On this account I disliked using
her and her hubby as cat's paws.
Of course it was impossible for me to stay in Pres-
cott without being recognized by my old friend Johnny
Kinnie, who still owned mining interests there. After
we had come together, I found that he still loved "red
licker," "all same" twenty-five years previous, when he
and I went to a swell Mexican wedding in La Mesilla,
New Mexico, and got "loaded" on champagne.
As Kinnie was a good Democrat, same as Mr. Hobbs
and Jim S. and knew the inside workings of the Arizona
brand of political whisky-soaked corruption, I used him
also as a cat's paw, though with his consent.
Johnny Kinnie and I went to the strong Miners' union
camp of McCabe where I did some secret work among
old Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, dynamiters, who knew me
well, but who failed to recognize me. Kinnie was fear
ful lest one particular rabid dynamiter from the Coeur
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 463
D'Alenes might know my face and voice; for only a
few weeks previous he had told Kinnie of that Dicken-
son detective "Allison — Siringo" who had joined the
Gem union and turned traitor. He said he would know
me should we ever meet, but the fellow drank at my ex
pense many times and told me all about the prospects
for a man of wealth like myself, investing money in that
camp.
Before court sat I made a trip to Phoenix, the capital
of the territory, and to Tempe and other places. On
these trips I was gathering evidence to be used against
the schemes which Jim S's friends were manufacturing
to clear the county treasurer.
Finally the day of trial arrived, and after the jury
were selected I informed our clients that the defense
would "fix" a few of the jurymen so as to be assured
of a "hung jury"; and later our clients were given the
names of the "fixed" jurymen, as I had got the informa
tion from headquarters, but it was too late now to remedy
the evil, as the case had started.
During the trial a Catholic priest did a little stunt on
a court official to save one of his church members of
wealth and influence who might be sent to the peni
tentiary in case Jim S. was convicted.
As soon as the jury were dismissed the four "fixed"
jurymen met Hobbs, Jim S. and myself in one of the
saloons. Then drinking began, and these jurymen told
of how they had worked for an acquittal. One of these
"fixed" jurymen said he wouldn't have brought in a
verdict of guilty had he been at an upstairs window in
the court house and seen Jim S. carry off the county
funds
464 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Thus is Arizona justice blind-drunk sometimes.
Of course Jim S. was put under bond for a new trial,
he being convicted at the fourth trial, and sentenced to
the penitentiary for four years.
The next day I bade my friends goodby and pulled
out for Denver stopping en route at Santa Fe, New Mex
ico.
I found a wonderful change in Eat 'Em Up Jake. He
had grown to be almost as large as a young colt, and
his ribs were covered with good solicHEat. Mr. and Mrs.
B. C. Volk who had charge of my ranch kept him filled
up as per my request. E. E. U. J. knew me and seemed to
take great delight in showing how easily he could pick
up a jackrabbit. The pleasure of seeing him outrun a
swift jackrabbit in a few hundred yards race amply re
paid me for the trouble and expense of getting him to
Santa Fe. Besides, he was a beautiful specimen of the
Russian wolfhound breed, and it was a satisfaction to
know that I had "brought him up" from a lanky half
starved pup to his present lordly state. His hair was
now long and curly and as white as snow, with the ex
ception of a few cloudy spots. It was also a pleasure to
think back to the time when he and I slept together and
"busted" broncos on the sagebrush flats of Wyoming.
Soon after returning to Denver I was sent to Mt. Car
bon, a coal mining camp in Gunnison county, Colorado,
to investigate a fire which had destroyed a "tipple" and
other buildings.
I found Mt. Carbon to be a desolate place on the
snowy crest of the great rocky mountain divide. Here
at midnight, with the snow from two to ten feet deep, I
EAT '£M UP JAKE.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 465
walked out into the hills and with old Colts 45 shot out
the old year 1904, and ushered in the new year of 1905.
It was a single handed New Year's celebration at a
height of over 10,000 feet above sea level, with the
whole face of nature wrapped in her purest robe of
white, and with the large flakes of snow falling thick
and fast. My mind naturally drifted back twelve
months to when old Colts 45 and I smoked in the new
year just dead, among the "moonshiners" of "Old Kin-
tuck."
I finally decided that the fire which destroyed the
tipple was an accident caused by defective electric wires.
Then I "hiked" back to Denver to await a new opera
tion.
For the next few months my work was on short oper
ations in the city or the nearby towns.
During this time I made one "big catch" in the per
son of Joseph Adams, alias many other names. He was
a member of the noted Knox-Whitman gang of check
forgers and had been chased all over the United States
and Europe. In the crowded postoffice one Sunday morn
ing I recognized him as resembling the Adams photo
which was carried in my pocket. After this "foxy"
gentleman had gotten a letter at the general delivery
window he went out into the rainstorm and tried to
cover up his tracks by going through out-of-the-way
streets and alleys. On turning a corner he would stand
concealed to see if any one were following him. Here
my early training in "shadow" work came in play. He
finally went to his room on I4th street. Then I stepped
so
466 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
into a nearby drug store and 'phoned to Assistant Supt.
Geary that I had the muchly wanted bank forger located,
giving the number of the street where his room was
located.
Soon Asst. Supt. B. and operative "Dick" H. were
sent to assist me.
When Asst. Supt. B. and one of the city officials
arrested Adams in the afternoon, when he had finished
a meal, I dropped out of sight, as we poor operatives
are compelled to do in order to hide our identity. But
not so with the assistant superintendents; they can
swell up and look wise as though they are the whole
"cheese."
Next morning the daily papers came out with glow
ing accounts of the great detective ability of our Asst.
Supt. Mr. B. in the running down of this great criminal.
Of course Mr. B. didn't "load" the newspaper reporters.
He merely looked wise and they did the rest. I mention
this to illustrate how an operative in the Dickenson insti
tution is a dead duck so far as the public are concerned.
Adams was sentenced to a long term in the penitentiary,
so I was told.
During the early spring I was sent to Leadville and
Cripple Creek to make an investigation on mining mat
ters.
On returning to Denver I was sent to Pueblo, Colo
rado, to work on the Blanche Haws kidnapping case.
Mrs. Haws was the principal witness against Repub
lican officials in recent election frauds in Pueblo, and she
had just been kidnapped and spirited away to parts un
known.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 467
On reaching the city of Pueblo I met our clients, Dis
trict Attorney S. H. Grave, Geo. E. Lord and J. A.
Boothly, both of the Daily Chieftain, the leading news
paper of the city.
A couple of days later Mrs. Haws was found, in a
wagon, being in the hands of her kidnappers en route
to Canyon City.
Mrs. Haws and several men were thrown in the county
jail. I had found out enough to convince me that Mrs.
Haws "stood in" with the "play" and had been kidnapped
by her own consent.
She was a good looking young woman of the free
and easy kind, and swore by all that was holy that she
had been kidnapped by force. A few days later in the
same jail where I had been a prisoner with the cold
blooded murderers Dick Manley and Anderson, many
years previous, I broke Mrs. Haws down and she made
a full confession. Undersheriff Tim CXLeary assisted
me.
While on the Haws case in Pueblo I had the pleasure
of inspecting President Roosevelt's teeth without his
knowing it.
He was returning to Washington from his noted bear
hunt. He made a short speech from the rear of his
private car. The chief of police, McCafferty, who knew
my business, had given me a "tip" as to where the Presi
dent's car would stop. Therefore the widow, on whom
I was working, and who thought I was a rich mining
man, and I, secured a choice place to stand. We stood
within a few feet of "Teddy" the Great, and I could look
into his mouth while he was talking, and see every tooth
468 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
in his head, and a finer set of teeth I had never seen be
fore. Every one seemed to be perfect, and they were set
into jaws that were built for wear and tear.
While making his heart-to-heart talk to the great audi
ence, the President showed his regard for the safety of
others, and also the activity of his massive brain.
On the rear end of the coach dozens of children were
hanging. The engine backed up to the train and the
jolt knocked some of these "kids" off onto the track
where they would have been run over had the coach
moved a few feet further. With outstretched arms ready
for action, the President sprang forward and grabbed at
some of the urchins who were still hanging onto the
car. The coach came to a standstill before any damage
had been done, and quicker than a flash the President's
whole countenance changed, and with a smile he said:
"Look out boys, little apples always go to the bottom of
the barrel!"
Of course this put himself in the big apple class,
which caused a roar of laughter. But the point which
struck me forcibly was the quick action of both thought
and speech.
I had seen "Teddy" Roosevelt once before at Trinidad,
Colo., when on his way to the Rough Riders' Reunion at
Las Vegas, New Mexico. This was before he became
President. At that time too, I stood near the end of his
car, though dressed as a coal miner and being in com
pany with a gang of striking miners.
Finally I returned home after doing all that could be
done against the "Grand Old Party" of President Lin
coln and Ben Butler.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 469
I had found out enough to satisfy me that the Repub
lican party had corrupted decency and the sacred fran
chise in the city of Pueblo, but that is not saying that
the Democrats wouldn't have done the same had they
been in control of the political machinery.
In Denver, where the Democrats had been in power
for many years, they had carried corruption with such
a high hand that even a Pattersonian anarchist of the
sic-em-tige kind ought to hang his head in shame, and
blush every time he sees a statue of the Goddess of
Liberty.
At one of these corrupt elections in Denver, I was in
structed to put on "bum" clothes and join the hobo gang
in the slums, so as to secure evidence. I only voted a
few times, — eight in all, — three times before the same
judge of election. Others of my hobo chums voted all
day as they needed some "easy" money.
The notorious Jack Hall of the old Clifton Hotel had
charge of the Democratic slush fund, where I did my
voting that day. My earnings for the day only amounted
to $1.75, at 25 cents a vote, as the paymaster skipped
out with the funds after my last vote was deposited,
just before the polls closed. On finding out that the
"money-guy" had vanished, there was much swearing
and gnashing of teeth among these poor downtrodden
American citizens who help make our laws.
Denver has made great strides though, in the matter
of buying votes, since the time that Wolcott put up his
good hard cash to become a Republican senator of these
glorious United States, where every man is a king, with
the sacred right to vote. At that time the Republicans
470 "A COWBOY DETECTIVE
had control of the city, it being about sixteen years ago.
But at that time they had no "scab" voters; they paid
union prices, — a new two dollar bill for each vote.
My next operation was trying to run down a hard
case in the State of Sonora, Old Mexico.
Operative J. V. Marke, now one of -the Asst. Supts.
of the Denver office, had just worked up a big steal in
Colorado City, Colorado, and this man was wanted in
connection with that case. He had been seen by a
traveling man at a fiesta in the town of Magdalena,
Mexico, and had told of owning a placer mine out in the
La Briesa mining country, about 100 miles east of the
railroad town of Magdalena. But as to the name he
was using down in Mexico we were ignorant; therefore
I had only his description to work on.
In Magdalena, a small city, I failed to get a trace of
my man, as at the time he was seen there the city was
full of strangers attending the fiesta.
From here I went overland by stage, private convey
ances and on horseback to the La Briesa mining camp
owned by Col. W. C. Green. From La Briesa I scoured
the wild mountain regions for fifty miles around, where-
ever gold had ever been found. I did this on horseback
and had some trying experiences with the half-starved
Mexican ponies breaking down.
I concluded that my man had never been in this La
Briesa country.
On returning to Magdalena I boarded a train for the
south and scoured the country through to the city of
Guaymas on the Gulf of California. In Hermosillo, the
capital of Sonora, I enjoyed life for a week, and also
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 471
took in the dives and tough places where my man would
naturally hang out, as he was a gambler by profession.
There was great excitement throughout the State of
Sonora over the Yaqui Indian war, Indian prisoners
were being brought into the capital and shot, then their
bodies hung up to trees to rot down, it being a crime
to remove a corpse from its necktie swing. I could have
seen five of these warriors shot and hung up about five
miles north of Hermosillo, but I had no desire to witness
the scene.
In Nogales, Arizona, on the Mexican border, I found
a hotel proprietress who had seen my man as he was
leaving Mexico. He had stayed at her hotel while wait
ing for the northbound train.
From here I went to Naco on the train, thence back
into Old Mexico to the large mining camp of Cananea;
thence back to Bisbee and Douglas, Arizona. In Doug
las I met my old cowboy friend Jim East and his good
wife.
After putting my case in the hands of the Arizona
Rangers, I returned to Denver, stopping off a few days
at Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Soon after my arrival in Denver the Captain of the
Arizona Rangers wrote me that they had my man located
and asked if they should arrest him. This letter was
turned over to our clients in Colorado Springs so they
could make their own terms with the Arizona Rangers.
This ended my connection with the operation. I had
gone under the name of Chas. Tony Lloyd on this trip.
I reached Denver just in time to see the State Legis
lature seat Peabody in the Governor's chair for a second
472 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
term, in spite of the protests that his opponent Alva
Adams had been elected and was entitled to the seat.
It was predicted that Governor Jas. H. Peabody would
be assassinated if the legislature confirmed his election;
therefore the Dickenson agency was called on to furnish
two bodyguards for the governor, who could shoot
straight and were not afraid to die. Yours Truly and
old Colts 45 were selected as one of these bodyguards
and we were itching to plant six 45 caliber bullets where
they would do the most good for society. Mr. Pace, one
of Capt. John Howard's patrolmen, was the other body
guard.
After the legislature had seated Governor Peabody, a
big reception was held at night in the Peabody mansion
on Capitol Hill, and there I experienced a touch of high-
life, and at the same time had a couple of years added
to my life by the governor's pretty daughter, Miss Jessie,
pinning a carnation to my coat and smiling her sweetest
while doing so.
In order to keep peace in the Republican household,
Governor Peabody resigned his office later, and the
legislature appointed Jesse McDonald, a good Republi
can from Leadville, as the new executive. Thus did I
lose my job and the chance of high living, also the op
portunity of killing members of Western Federation of
Dynamiters, or the spilling of my own Texas blood for
the benefit of society and the corrupt politicians.
A few days later I was en route to Sheridan, Wyoming,
to work on cowboys and cattlemen to secure secrets of
a "Frenzied Finance" nature for a live stock [commis
sion trust of the east.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 473
I was given a letter of introduction to Cbas Long, a
cattle inspector and deputy sheriff at Sheridan. Mr.
Long was a cowboy of the old school, and assisted me
in my work.
In Sheridan I made the acquaintance of an old Texas
cowboy by the name of George Carroll. He was now
a prosperous cattleman. I went with him and his young
son to their cattle ranch on the Rosebud river in Mon
tana, and while on this trip I lived my old cowboy life
over again by eating fine fat beef stuck on a stick and
roasted over a campfire.
After about a month spent in and around Sheridan, I
secured the coveted sworn affidavit from the McKinley
brothers, cattlemen. But I sweat blood until the affi
davits were in my pocket, as the "boys" didn't want to
mix up in the affair as it was no fight of theirs, they
being honorable men.
I then returned home, wondering what the next oper
ation would be.
After a short stay in Denver I was detailed on a case
in Colorado Springs, which turned out to be a two
weeks' pleasure trip in that noted summer resort. The
tourist season was then at its height, it being midsum
mer; therefore my stay in that clean little prohibition
city was a pleasure indeed.
The work was in the nature of an investigation to
decide who had stolen a big lot of street car tickets,
though only a few of them had been used.
The operation was being conducted by Mr. G. A.
Carpp, the president of a principal national bank. I was
assisted by Mr. O. J. Lewis, Mr. Wm. Boyd, Dr. Tice
474: A COWBOY DETECTIVE
t
and Supt. Latham of the street railway system of that
place.
While in Colorado Springs I visited my old friends,
Postmaster Dana, Chief of Police Alex. Adams; the
cowboy author, Andy Adams, and last but not least, C.
W. Kurie, the mining man, and his lovely wife and sons.
Mr. Kurie and his eldest son gave me my first auto
mobile ride in their brand new $4000.00 "Red Devil."
I enjoyed it immensely.
As the result of my work a high up employe of the
Electric Ry. Co. lost his job. I felt sorry for the poor
fellow when I accused him of being the guilty man. The
blood rushed out of his face and he became as pale as
a ghost. His ears became so transparent after the blood
had left them, that I could almost see through them.
But the head officials had no disposition to prosecute
him.
I had previously confronted other trusted employes on
whom a slight suspicion rested, and accused them of the
theft as though I had good proof, but they looked me
square in the face and showed their innocence by every
look and action. Among these were Mr. Carpp's young
nephew and on old Union soldier eighty years of age.
It was comical to see this old hero of bloody battles climb
upon his dignity when accused.
I then bade my friends goodby and returned to the
Queen City of the Plains, Denver.
Supt. J. S. Kaiser at once detailed me on an opera
tion in Roswell, New Mexico, just the place I wanted
to visit, as I hadn't been there for twenty-three years.
Although my instructions from Asst. Supt. "Hank"
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 475
Geary who had charge of the case was to do nothing to
retard justice, as the agency couldn't afford to work
against his "royal nibs," Uncle Samuel; still, knowing
my failing, I felt sure that once in the battle I would
fight to win, even though my big Uncle did get his corns
stepped on.
Before starting on my trip to Roswell, the manager of
our six western offices, Mr. Jas. McCartney, called me
into his private office to inform me that I had been pro
moted to the position of assistant superintendent under
Supt. John S. Kaiser of the Denver office; that on my
return from New Mexico I was to take the place of Asst.
Supt. Carver, who had just resigned to accept a place
under Special Agent Ben Williams of the A. T. & S.
F. Ry.
I told Mr. McCartney that I didn't want the position
of assistant superintendent, but he wouldn't take no for
an answer. He told me to take a week to think the
matter over carefully, and then to write my decision to
Supt. John S. Kaiser, so that my letter could be forwarded
to the eastern headquarters.
After reaching Roswell, New Mexico, I wrote a letter
refusing the promotion, under the pretense that I didn't
think office work would suit my complexion after having
led an active outdoor life so long; though in truth I re
fused it because I didn't consider my education finished.
For to accept the assistant superintendency, would be
like a pupil in a college taking a position as assistant
professor. The facts are, I started out in the Dickenson
school to serve fifteen years. Then the time was extended
to twenty years, as I found there was much more to
learn of the world's ways.
476 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
On starting out with the Dickensons, I had just fin
ished "fifteen years on the hurricane deck of a Spanish
pony," in the strenuous cowboy school, and I concluded
that another fifteen years in the equally strenuous
Dickenson College would complete my education; but
this school was found to be great and broad, so that a
twenty years' course would be short enough.
Boarding a Colorado Southern Ry. train, I started for
Amarillo, Tex. There a transfer was made onto a Pecos
Valley train of the A. T. & S. F. system.
The journey from Amarillo, Texas, to Portales, New
Mexico, an all day ride in a railway coach, was over the
level staked plains, and was a rare treat to me. Over
this same ground I had ridden horseback, with not a
single inhabitant between the L X ranch twenty miles
north of Amarillo, southwesterly to Roswell, New Mex
ico, a distance of about 200 miles. This was in 1877
and 1878. Now my train speeds along through a coun
try of fine white ranch and farm houses, with a wind
mill on nearly every section of land. What a wonderful
change in about twenty-seven years.
On coming in sight of the Paloduro (head of the Red
river) Canyon to our left, I saw the once favorite camp
ing place for Indian and Mexican buffalo hunters. Here
after the New Year in 1877, W. C. Moore (the cowboy
outlaw seen in Alaska) Jack Ryan, Vanduzan and myself
camped, down in the breaks of the Paloduro, where Van-
duzan had killed a fat bear. And that day I saw my
first Indian buffalo hunt with lances.
Leaving my companions in camp, I had joined a band
of fifty Apache Indians and we rode out to a large herd
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 477
of buffalo which were grazing where my train is now
gliding along. The herd numbered about 20,000 to
50,000 head. When within half a mile of the woolly
beasts our Indian chief placed us all abreast close to
gether so as to fool the buffaloes who couldn't figure
out what kind of an animal we were. They would have
stampeded from the sight of horsemen approaching them
in a haphazard fashion; but as it was, we were within
100 yards of them before they broke into a run. Then
the race of life and death began. We were soon right
in the midst of the herd at the tail end. For awhile I did
nothing but watch the Indians do their expert lancing.
Each buck would run up by the side of a buffalo and
reaching over, stick the sharp steel or stone lance, which
were fastened to long poles, into the animal's loin. Down
the poor brute would go, helpless, but not killed. Then
Mr. Buck would select another and another victim for
slaughter.
One old grey-haired Indian buck on a large yellow
horse, leaned far over in his stirrup and drove the lance
home, but his weight on the handle broke it, and off he
tumbled and rolled over and over in the short buffalo
grass. I happened to be following close behind. It was
comical to see this Indian, after he had gained his feet,
dodging the buffaloes which were bringing up the rear.
They tried to keep out of his way, but in his excitement
he would run in front of them. One old bull jumped
almost over his head and knocked him down. Then he
sat still and the rest went around him.
At the windup I emptied my Colts 45 pistol and killed
three bulls; my aim being just at the lower edge of the
478 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
hump. Here the bullet enters the "lights" and does the
work.
After the battle was over there were several hundred
crippled buffalo scattered along the trail. They were un
able to rise to their feet, but otherwise much alive.
I remained to see the several hundred bucks and squaws
who had followed behind, kill the wounded animals.
Then I rode back to camp in time for the bearmeat
supper. Of course I had brought along the humps of
the buffalo killed by me.
Soon the train rounded the head of Paloduro Canyon,
and here to the right, a few hundred yards, stood the
log cabin house built by the Dyer brothers (brothers-in-
law of Cattle King Charlie Goodnight) in 1878; this
being the first house built between the L X ranch and
Roswell. At that time Charlie Goodnight had his ranch
at the mouth of Paloduro Canyon about twenty-five miles
further east. All around this old Dyer log house now
waived fields of ripening grain, and nearby stood up-to-
date farm homes.
Finally we crossed Running Water, thence past a large
"dry" lake which had looked good to me in the summer
of 1881. At that time I was returning with the rem
nants of my men from a raid after "Billy the Kid" and
his gang and the cattle which they had stolen and run
into Lincoln County, New Mexico, the winter previous.
This raid had resulted in the killing and capture of the
whole gang.
We struck this "dry" lake with 2,500 head of famished
cattle which had had no water for two days and nights ;
hence were almost crazy. We and our mounts were
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 479
about dead for water, too. The bottom of this lake bed
.contained about two feet of rainwater, which proved a
godsend to us. We had been lost, but wouldn't give up
the ship by turning the cattle loose.
My cowboys were Frank Clifford ("Big Foot Wal
lace," afterwards an outlaw), Tom Emory and Lon.
Chambers. The last two were in the battle which put
"Billy the Kid" out of business, and placed two of his
gang, Charlie Bowdre and Tom O'Falliard under the
sod. They and Jim East^ another of my men, were with
Sheriff Pat Garrett when the fight took place.
On flew the train over familiar ground, finally stop
ping in the lively town of Portales. Here at Las Por-
tales Lake, "Billy the Kid" and his gang had their head
quarters in the early days, while stealing cattle. At a
fresh water spring coming out of a cliff of rock they
had a camp and a stone corral.
From here the train descended from the staked plains
down into the Pecos Valley, and in the evening dumped
me out in the beautiful little city of Roswell, New Mex
ico.
Late that evening I walked down the main street of
Roswell, and there in front of a real estate office sat
my old cowboy friend Tom Emory.
But seeing Emory so often in the weeks following
brought back memories of bygone days; for right here
in this very spot in the spring of 1881 I had left him to
guard the steers which we had recovered from parties
to whom they had been sold by "Billy the Kid," while I
took Lon Chambers and "Big Foot Wallace" down the
Pecos river to attend the roundup on John Chisolm's
range, in search of other stolen cattle.
480 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
At that time, John Chisolm, whose home ranch was
five miles below Roswell, and which is now the beauti
ful home of millionaire J. J. Hagerman, ranged 60,000
cattle, where now live nearly that many human beings.
And within a stone's throw of where Tom Emory now
sits smoking, stands the same adobe residence where
Emory took his meals with the family of Capt. J. C.
Lea, — one of nature's genuine noblemen, now dead, —
during my absence.
In those days Roswell contained two stores, one
owned by Capt. J. C. Lea and the others by a Mr. Cos-
grove. There were, not to exceed a dozen houses in the
town, and Emory used to graze his steers where the
busy streets now are, and watch them from the Lea store
where he was wont to sit and smoke in the shade, just as
he is doing now.
During the forenoon the ((day after my arrival, I
stepped into the Citizens National Bank to make a de
posit, and my old friend John W. Poe, the president of
the institution stepped to the window to wait on me. I
gave him my name as Chas. Tony Lloyd and this threw
him off the track. We met several times afterwards and
he never recognized me.
Seeing John W. Poe brought back other memories, for
I was the direct cause of his first coming to New Mexico,
where he has lived ever since and accumulated an inde
pendent fortune by having the foresight to see the
future of Roswell and the Pecos Valley.
In the winter of 1880 I had followed a herd of cattle
supposed to be stolen, to Las Cruces on the Rio Grande
river, and there from the notorious desperado "Hurricane
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 481
Bill" I found out their destination was Tombstone, Ariz.
Then I wrote to my boss, W. C. Moore in Texas, to
send a good man by rail and stage to Tombstone, Ariz.,
to investigate this cattle herd, as I couldn't go that far
from my outfit, then in White Oaks.
John W. Poe was a deputy U. S. Marshal in Mobeeta,
Texas, with a name for honor and bravery, so Moore
employed him for the trip to Arizona; but he reached
there too late, the herd having been scattered over that
wild country and all trace of them lost. Then Moore
ordered Poe to Dona Ana and Lincoln Counties, New
Mexico, to prosecute the parties who had "stood in" with
"Billy the Kid" in the stealing of L X cattle, as per my
reports.
Later when Pat. Garrett's term of office expired, John
W. Poe was elected sheriff of Lincoln County, which
then embraced a wild territory almost 200 miles square.
After becoming settled in Roswell, I called on Attor
ney W. W. Gatewood, then my operation was started.
I made many new acquaintances here and was taken
out buggy riding often, among the flowing artesian wells
and lovely farms and orchards. It was indeed a treat to
see the change from an untamed cattle country to fruit
and flowers. And a drive through "Lovers Lane," the
former ranch home of John W. Poe, on a hot summer's
day is next to paradise, especially if the girl is a "good
looker."
In Roswell I became well acquainted with Gen. Sher
man Bell, who dished out to the Western Federation of
Miners in Colorado, some of their own bitter medicine.
They made a great howl about being deported from their
482 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
homes, contrary to the Constitution of the United States ;
but in these howls they failed to mention the hundreds
of non-union men termed "scabs," dragged from the
bosom of their families and set adrift without food or
shelter in dead of winter by them. I know whereof I
speak, for I helped them do it in the Coeur D'Alenes, and
the only crime committed by the poor "scabs" was try
ing to earn an honest living by the sweat of their brows.
This is not meant to condemn all members of the
Western Federation of Miners, as that would be unjust.
I venture to say that half of the members of that great
and powerful organization are kindhearted, law-abiding
citizens who are deluded and led astray by rank, blood
thirsty blatherskites.
Gen. Sherman Bell was in Roswell for his health, and
to hobnob with cowboy Charlie Ballard and U. S. Dist.
Att. Maj. Llewellyn, who had helped him and "Teddy"
Roosevelt storm San Juan hill in Cuba.
I remained in Roswell over a month, and before leav
ing, our side came out with flying colors, while poor
old Uncle Samuel took a back seat. But during this legal
battle I learned some new lessons in high finance and
official trickery, which would have caused President
Roosevelt's model teeth and massive jaws to snap to
gether like a steel trap, could he have peeped behind the
curtains.
One day previous to my departure, I couldn't resist the
temptation of making myself known to my old cowboy
chums, Phelps and Tom White, nephews of the old time
Texas Cattle Kings, George and Jim Littlefield; the
White boys being now wealthy.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 483
Of course we had to "hark back" to old times, and in
doing so, Phelps White added a little new history to my
cowboy life.
In the late Spring of 1877 at St. Joe, Texas, mounted
on my pet racehorse "Whisky Pete," and wearing a satis
fied smile decorated with a sprouting mustache, I hired
out to the boss of one of the Littlefield trail herds num
bering 3,700 head of mixed cattle, en route to Dodge
City, Kansas. I was given the job of horse wrangler, —
taking care of the "ramutha," about 100 head of saddle
horses.
In crossing through the ten mile belt of heavy black
jack timber near Red River, which is the Texas and
Indian Territory line, the boss detailed Phelps White,
who was then too young to support a mustache, though
old enough to "tote" a Winchester rifle and a Colts 45
pistol, to help me through the "blackjacks."
I was trailing the "ramutha" several miles behind the
cattle herd, taking my time, when young White and his
heavy artillery appeared on the scene. He was informed
that his help was not needed as the horses were no
trouble. Still, he remained and helped me through the
timber.
And now after keeping silent twenty-eight years he
comes out with the truth that I was suspected of being a
horse thief, and they feared that my Indian Territory pals
might be in hiding in this "crosstimber" to help me steal
the whole "ramutha." Hence the boss sending him
back to help me.
They could hardly be blamed for their suspicions, for
I was a tough looking kid and had spent the previous
484 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
winter among the Chickasaw Indians in the Indian Terri
tory.
While with Tom and Phelps White they introduced
me to my old friend Tom Emory, and I found out that
he had once recognized me down in Casas Grandes, Old
Mexico, but having heard that I was with the Dickensons
he thought it best not to speak to me.
I was also made known to my old friends J. S. Lea,
now county treasurer of this, Chaves County, and Andy
M. Robertson, a prosperous business man of Roswell.
Phelps White pointed out to me old "Uncle Henry"
Stephens whom I knew in my boyhood days when he
was one of the largest cattle drovers of the old Chisholm
Trail, between southern Texas and Kansas. He now
represents a Kansas City commission firm, as his great
wealth has taken wings and "flewd" away.
In leaving Roswell on my return to Denver, I [con
cluded to try J. W. Stockard's new automobile passen
ger line over the 107 miles of unsettled country to Tor-
ranee, at the junction of the new Rock Island and New
Mexico Central railways. I did this so as to visit my
pets at Santa Fe.
Bright and early one morning we started with the
big Red Devil and the Little Red Imp loaded with gaso
line and half a dozen passengers. It was raining hard
and the mud flew thick and fast. About night we had
reached Charlie Ballard's cattle ranch fifteen miles out
of Roswell, and a few of us hired a rancher to take us
back to the starting point in his carriage. It was late
in the night when we reached Roswell.
This was my second and last ride in an automobile.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 485
The trip was worth something though, as I learned some
new .cuss words.
I thought of the story about the western farmer who
had never heard of automobiles and the green cowboy
who had never seen a hay mower, but had heard of auto
mobiles. The angry farmer was on his way to the cross
road town to get an unruly hay mower fixed, at a time
when his hay needed cutting. He met the cowboy whose
hide was full of "red licker," who stopped him and
asked :
"Say mister, is that a au-to-mo-bele ?"
The hayseeder replied: "I dunno, — the d — d thing
au-to-mo-hay, but it won't."
That was the way with the Stockard Red Devils, —
they au-to have landed us in Torrance, but they didn't,
thus spoiling my chance of swapping smiles with Eat-
Em-Up-Jake.
Next morning I boarded a train for Denver, return
ing over the same route that I had come.
CHAPTER XXI
A COWBOY OPERATION IN EASTERN OREGON — A TRIP
TO SOMBRERETE, OLD MEXICO A VlSIT TO THE
COEUR D'ALENES WITH JAMES MCPARLAND — LAY
ING FOR TRAIN HOLDUPS IN NEBRASKA — AN OPERA
TION IN MEXICO CITY.
On returning home from Roswell I was sent at once
to Santa Fe, New Mexico, in response to a telegram
from Absolom Stuck, a wealthy retired merchant of that
place who wanted a shrewd detective sent on the first
train.
On arriving in the Ancient City of the Holy Faith,
I found Mr. Stuck greatly worked up over the receipt
of a threatening letter demanding that a large sum of
money be dropped by him at a certain out-of-the-way
place at midnight, on a designated night, or he would be
killed and his fine residence blown up.
Deputy U. S. Marshal Fred Fornoff and U. S. Postal
Inspector A. P. Smithers had started to work on the
case. I joined them and we three worked together for
the next couple of weeks.
We finally decided that the letter had been written as
a bluff, with a chance that Mr. Stuck would get scared
and drop the cash in the roadway, as requested; but we
advised that a guard be kept around the residence at
night, though I didn't think that an attempt would be
made on Mr. Stuck's life, which has proven correct, as
486
'A COWBOY DETECTIVE 487
the old gentleman is very much alive up to the present
time.
On leaving Denver I had wired to Silver City, New
Mexico, for my daughter Viola to meet me in Santa Fe.
She had just completed her education in the Territorial
Normal College of that place, and therefore was at
leisure.
Mounted on offsprings of my race mare Lulu, Viola
and I had some exciting races after jackrabbits, led by
Eat 'Em Up Jake and Klondike.
Viola enjoyed the races after the jackrabbits, but she
hated Eat 'Em Up Jake for his bloodthirsty cruelty in
killing the poor bunnies after having them in his power.
After a pleasant two weeks spent with Viola and my
Pets, at Mr. Stuck's expense I returned to Denver,
thankful to the gentleman who had sent the threatening
letter. It is only the ill winds which scatter roses and
thorns in the pathway of a Dickenson sleuth. On this
occasion the thorns were omitted and placed under Mr.
Stuck's feet.
A day in Denver and I was off for Steamboat Springs
in the heart of the Rockies, to investigate the burning
of a lumber mill for R. H. Manning and his associates
in the First National Bank of that place.
A lovely trip over the mountain range on the new
Moffat Railway brought me to the terminus at Hot Sul
phur Springs. From there I had to make an eighty mile
stage ride to Steamboat Springs near the corner of Utah
and Wyoming.
While on this operation I made trips into the moun
tains on deer hunts.
488 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
" i
In the town of Yampa I was introduced to Attorney
F. E. Brooks, one of Colorado's U. S. Congressmen, but I
didn't tell him of how I dodged him and played his client
Duke, in Tucson, A. T., "double" during the Clark-
Duke mining suit.
After a couple of weeks work in the mountains I
placed the crime of setting the Manning mill afire at the
door of another mill man, and a bitter enemy. But as
he had evidently committed the crime alone, I concluded
that it would require several months' time at great ex
pense, to get evidence sufficient to convict. I had gained
the friendship of this no doubt guilty party, and he and
I hunted deer together.
On meeting the clients in Steamboat Springs I ad
vised against retaining me there unless they felt willing
to spend a large sum of money for a conviction, with only
a chance of success, as we might fail. They agreed to
my advice, and I boarded a stage for Wolcott Station
on the D. & R. G. Ry., a distance of over eighty miles
over a route which I had traveled on a previous opera
tion.
A week's rest in Denver and I was away for a long
operation in the far-off golden west.
On arriving in Portland, Oregon, I called at our office
there and consulted with the Supt, Capt. Jas. Bevins
and the Asst. Supt. D. G. Doogan, both of whom I was
already acquainted with.
An attempt had just been made near Seattle, Wash
ington, to rob a Great Northern Ry. train, and Capt.
Bevins took me along with him to investigate this train
holdup.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 489
Phil. Berne, an ex-operative friend of mine was the
superintendent of the Seattle office, hence I was not a
stranger in that city.
Here I put in a couple of weeks and experienced a
touch of high life in the lower stratum of society, my
work being mostly among the dance-hall "girls" in the
six concert halls there.
After running down several clues and getting evi
dence against suspects, I returned to Portland to take up
the operation which had brought me to the far west.
Capt. Bevins, who had the supervision of the Portland,
Seattle and Spokane offices, returned to Portland in time
to see me off for eastern Oregon on my important oper
ation which had been held for me several months.
I went to Shaniko by rail. There I boarded a stage
coach and traveled about seventy-five miles over a rocky
road to Prineville, the county seat of Crook County,
Oregon, in the eastern part of the state.
In Prineville, a prosperous town of 2,000 people, I se
cured a nice room and settled down for a long stay. My
room was in the house of Judge Bell, and he and his
wife made my stay a pleasant one. They were a fine
old couple who had lived in Oregon for about fifty years.
Prineville is the center of the finest horse country in
the United States, and the rough lava hills are alive with
wild horses. There are also many large cattle ranches,
but the cattle have to be fed hay in winter, as the snow
gets pretty deep at times. The horses require no feed
as they can paw the snow from the wild bunch grass in
the rocky cliffs.
490 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
I adopted the name of Chas. Tony Lloyd and palmed
myself off as a horse dealer. I opened a bank account
with the First National Bank, and had my first money
come through my friend John W. Poe, President of the
Citizens National Bank of Roswell, New Mexico, so as
to show that I was from that territory.
Owing to it being November, the range horse business
was at a standstill, except a few small bunches sold at
auction.
At one of these auction sales shortly after my arrival,
I made myself solid as a cowboy by roping horses by
both front feet. Previous to this there was doubt about
my ever having been a cowboy. I had purchased five
head of broncos at this sale, and they had to be branded
in my own "iron," which had just been recorded.
In order to test my cowboy abilities it was agreed that
Charlie Bedell, one of their crack ropers, a young man
who stands six feet in his socks and is built from the
ground up, and whose face stands "ace high" with the
girls, and I were to get in the corral and catch these five
horses by the front teeth ; the one who caught the great
est number to be the winner.
Luck seemed to be on my side, although I had had very
little practice for many years. I never missed a throw
and caught four head, while poor Bedell only had one to
his credit. He didn't object to "setting 'em up" to the
large crowd, so much as being beaten by a "foreigner" ;
for the Oregon boys think they can beat the world at
roping and riding.
For reckless riding over rocky hills the Oregon boys
can't be beaten; but if their mounts were not the most
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 491
sure footed animals on earth, the graveyards there would
be more plentiful.
The winter was spent in making friends with the wild
and woolly element, scattered over the thinly settled
mountainous country for a hundred miles east and south.
Trips were made through this country, and a few horses
bought or traded for, as a "blind."
Finally I received orders to discontinue the operation
and return to Portland. Therefore the dozen head of
horses then on hand were sold, and I made preparations
to leave under the pretense that I was going to Alaska.
My work had been successful. I cannot disclose the na
ture of the operation as the agency may have other work
to do on it.
As a whole I found the people of Crook county, Ore
gon, good open-hearted citizens, and among them were
some pretty girls. One of these, a Miss Dora Crane,
woke up little Cupid so that he gave me a dig or two in
the ribs with his dart. I had to visit her brother Charlie
who owned a horse and cattle ranch up the Ochico River,
quite often, and Miss Dora and the cute little dimples in
her cheeks did the cooking for us.
On the first day of May, 1906, my friends were bidden
goodby and I boarded a four-horse stage coach for
Shaniko at the terminus of the Columbia Southern Rail
way.
In Portland I received instructions from Supt. B. A.
Cuppel, who had recently taken the place of Capt. James
Bevins, who had resigned to try ranch life on his farm
in the state of Washington, to hurry on to Denver, as
Mr. Jas. McCartney wanted to use me. I then bought a
492 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
ticket for Denver, Colo., over the Union Pacific railway,
and at Echo we got mixed up in a bad washout, with no
prospects of getting through for a week.
I then returned to Portland and went to Spokane,
Wash., over the Northern Pacific railroad. But in Spo
kane I found there were no trains running over the
Union Pacific line out of there, owing to washouts.
There was nothing to do but lay over all day and take
the Northern Pacific by way of Butte City, Mont.
In the Dickenson office here I had a pleasant visit with
Supt. J. G. Gascom and his assistant, George James-
worth, who was an operative with me in the Chicago of
fice twenty years previous. Also met Mr. George D.
Bangs, the general manager of the whole Dickenson sys
tem, with headquarters in New York City; and Tom F.
Kipple, general superintendent of the Portland, Seattle
and Spokane offices since the resignation of Capt. Bevins,
Mr. Bangs and Mr. Kipple had just arrived from
Seattle.
My plans were changed by the receipt of a telegram to
meet Mr. James McCartney who would leave Denver
next day, in Boise, Idaho.
At 10 P. M. Mr. Bangs and I boarded a N. P. train
for Butte, Mont. There we branched off on the Union
Pacific for Pocatello, Idaho, where we separated, he
going east to Denver and I west to Boise City, the capi
tal of Idaho.
I arrived in Boise a few hours after Mr. McCartney.
On meeting him at the Idan-ha Hotel he informed me
that contrary to his wishes the Dickenson brothers had
insisted that he have me and old Colts 45 accompany
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 493
him on his trips to Idaho in the future. For it had been
learned through secret sources that an attempt would be
made on his life by the Western Federation of Dyna
miters.
In the early part of the year Ex-Governor Steunenburg
of Idaho had been blown up and killed at his home in
Caldwell, Idaho. A bomb had been placed at his gate
by Harry Orchard, one of the inner-circle of the West
ern Federation of Miners. Orchard was arrested on sus
picion after the murder, and Mr. Jas. McCartney was
sent for by Governor Frank R. Gooding of Idaho, and
he secured a full confession from Orchard as to how he
had been paid by the officials of the Western Federation
of Miners to murder enemies of their noble order. He
had only helped to blow up twenty-six in all. He had
made a big killing when he blew up the Independence
railroad depot in the Cripple Creek, Colo., district, kill
ing thirteen so-called "scabs" and maiming many others
for life.
Governor Steunenburg in the Coeur D'Alene riots of
1899 had offended this Noble Order of Dynamiters by
putting many of them in the "bull-pen," and for doing
his sworn duty, as he saw it, he was marked for a hor
rible death; this being done to intimidate other officials.
But in this they underestimated the true, noble qualities
implanted in most men whom the people elect to run the
Ship of State.
Governor F. R. Gooding, despite the threats of murder
through the mail and otherwise, went to work with heart
and soul ablaze with right and justice, to run down the
murderers of his predecessor in office.
494 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
At the Idan-ha Hotel I found our agency conducting
a miniature branch office with operative Thiele and sten
ographer H. in charge and doing the open work. The
secret operatives being kept in the dark.
In company with Mr. McCartney I visited the Idaho
penitentiary several times, and saw the noted Harry Or
chard who had confessed; also Steve Adams who later
confessed to Mr. McCartney in order to save his own
neck. He too, says he was employed by the Western
Federation of Miners to murder enemies. His confes
sion unravels many mysteries wherein detectives and
others have been "put out of the way."
The warden of the penitentiary, E. L. Whitney, proved
to be an old-time cowboy, he and I having worked for
the same Texas cattleman, W. B. Grimes, in 1876; hence
we "harked back" to the good old days of pure air,
poison liquor, "snap and ball" pistols and long horn
steers.
At the penitentiary I found an old acquaintance in the
person of Rube Robbins who had been a "bad" man
chaser in Idaho for thirty-one years. He had taken part
in the Coeur D'Alene Miners' Union trouble of 1892,
under Governor Wiley's administration, and it was then
we first met.
In the county jail in Boise my friend, George A. Petti-
bone, the dynamiter who blew up the Frisco Mill at
Gem, Idaho, in 1892, was now sleeping behind steel bars.
With him were President Moyer and Secretary Hay-
wood of the Western Federation of Dynamiters. They
were being held for the murder of Governor Steunen-
burg.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 495
According to the confessions of Orchard and Adams,
Pettibone is the wretch who placed the bomb and pocket-
book on a cut-off trail across a vacant lot in Denver, to
blow up Judge Gabbert of the Colorado Supreme Court.
But a poor stranger coming across the lot in the opposite
direction from the Judge, picked up the pocketbook and
the buried bomb did the rest, leaving only a hole in the
ground and piec.es of flesh and bones. Pettibone wit
nessed the scene from a distance, according to these con
fessions.
In the course of a week Mr. McCartney and I went to
the town of Caldwell where Governor Steunenburg was
blown up. We put up at the same hotel where Orchard
made his headquarters previous to the murder.
While in Caldwell I saw the widow of Governor
Steunenburg and his sons who are bankers there. I
also saw the spot where the bomb did its hellish work.
Finally Mr. McCartney and I made a trip to Spokane,
Wash. Here many of my old Coeur D'Alene friends
were met, among them being "Mace" Campbell and John
A. Finch, and their secretary, W. A. Corey; also Wil
liam Finch, Wm. T. Stoll, the attorney, and the mer
chant prince, F. R. Culbertson; and last but not least,
the fighting sheriff of Shoshone County, Idaho, Mr. An
gus Sutherland.
Angus Sutherland had much to tell me of the ups and
downs of his county in the Coeur D'Alene mining dis
trict after I left in 1892 ; how he had to fight the dyna
miters, and how my friend Dr. Simms, was shot through
the head and killed as he was coming out of the theater
in Wallace; also the killing of Kneebone and Whitney
496 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
and many others. In fact his narrative was sprinkled
with human gore enough to float a small steamer.
From Spokane Mr. McCartney and I returned, to
Boise, thence a few days' visit in Salt Lake City, Utah,
where I met many former friends. Here "Tex." Rick-
ard presented McCartney with his pet Colts 45 pistol,
which he had carried for years.
After over a month of high living at Idaho's expense,
we returned to Denver.
My next out-of-the-city operation was a trip to the
State of Zacatecas, Old Mexico, for Mr. Pierce Aker-
man of Colorado Springs, Colo.
Of course, I had to go by way of Santa Fe, New
Mexico, to visit Eat 'Em Up Jake and my other pets, in
cluding Mr. J. W. Best, my foreman, and old man At-
wood who had worked for me on the ranch off and on
for many years.
A six hundred mile ride from El Paso, Texas, on the
bumpity-bump old Mexican Central Railway, after two
long delays on account of wrecks, in which two men
were killed, and I arrived in Gutierrez, Mexico. Here at
midnight I boarded a six-mule stage coach for a seventy-
five mile ride over a rocky road to Sombrerete, a mining
camp of 8,000 dark-colored souls. We arrived at our
destination the following evening.
An interesting traveler on the stage coach with me
was an elderly American gentleman by the name of G.
He was going to Sombrerete to round up a 12-year-old
boy whom he had found out had a nose just like himself.
Mr. G. had been absent several years from Sombrerete
and had become well-fixed financially, near the City of
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 497
Guadalajara, Mexico. He said this boy must ue a chip
off the old G. block, hence he intended to give him a
fine college education in the United States. In Som-
brerete, later, Mr. G. showed me this boy after he had
been scrubbed up and put into knee-pants, and he
showed me the peculiarity of his own nose and of the
boy's. There was no doubt in my mind as to where
this boy got his nose.
The lad's mother who had other younger children,
hated to part with her son, but the promise of a college
education for the boy, won the battle for old man G.
Who knows but what this is the starting of another
nosy race of people, and who can divine the intentions
of old Mother Nature in this case? I tried to peep into
the future about 1,000 years, and in imagination I could
see a populous race of men with noses just like the elder
G. and his son. And in their family trees I read how
'way back in the dim and dusty past, one Mr. G. who
was of a roving disposition, left his native land of Cali
fornia and settled in Sombrerete, Mexico, where he mar
ried a princess of royal blood and begot sons and
daughters.
Thus, in my mind's eye, could I see history repeating
itself "all same" when the Spanish soldiers and dons
started the foundation of the Mexican race; and the
hardy French trappers of the north established the
French Canadians; and other Frenchmen in the south
laid the foundation stones of the Creoles. Of course
they all sprang from royal blood, now that old Father
Time has washed away their sins.
Mother Nature seems to have her own peculiar way
82
498 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
in which to improve the human races, and in doing so,
she uses the poor white man as catspaws to pull her
own chestnuts out of the fire. I could even see at the
end of these thousand years where the old lady had com
pletely straightened out the kinks in the negroes' hair.
In Sombrerete and the surrounding country I spent
over a month.
In La Noria, a mining camp twenty miles north of
Sombrerete, I made the acquaintance of B. Clark W.,
the energetic ex-son-in-law of the once noted governor
of Colorado, "Bloody Bridles" Waite.
I knew Mr. W. in Aspen, Colo., in the early days, but
he didn't recognize me as the Chas. Leon he met there
in the year 1888. Mr. W. treated me to high wines,
and without knowing it, divulged secrets which I had
come after. He supposed I was a mining man looking
for investments. He himself is operating the La Noria
silver mine and has working for him several hundred
men.
I also worked on many of Mr. W.'s friends and asso
ciates.
On this trip I was using the name of Chas. T. Lloyd.
In Sombrerete I met half a dozen pleasant Americans.
Among them was young Arkins, a son-in-law of the
wealthy Arkins of New York who founded the "Judge"
which is read all over the world; also a jolly Irishman
by the name of "Christoval" Mansfield. He and his
good wife forced me to be their guest for Sunday din
ners. Of course this was a treat, as the hotel food was
"on the bum," same as it is all over Montezumaland.
My work being finished, I appointed Mr. Adriano
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 499
Agualda, a wealthy Mexican lawyer, to look after our
clients' interests, which footed up about $100,000.00.
He was instructed to have the trap set and ready to
spring at a moment's notice. This freed me, so I board
ed the stage at midnight during a howling rain and
wind storm, for the railroad station of Gueteras. There
the next evening I boarded a railroad train for El Paso,
Texas; thence on to Denver, by way of Eat 'Em Up
Jake's den.
On arriving in Denver, Supt. "Hank" Geary went with
me to Colorado Springs, Colo., to close up the operation
with the clients, Mr. Pierce Akerman, Mr. Robert Tolles
and Attorney Wm. Breen.
Soon after returning home I had to accompany Mr.
Jas. McCartney on another trip to the northwest to see
that dynamiters didn't blow him off the face of the
earth.
We stopped awhile in Boise, Idaho, and visited Harry
Orchard, the self-confessed murderer of Governor
Steunenburg, in the state penitentiary.
During our absence the other Western Federation
dynamiter, Steve Adams, had been transferred to the
county jail as his wife and uncle had been there and
persuaded him to go back on his confession in order to
help the officials of the Western Federation of Miners.
On this trip in Boise I met many of my former friends
in the Coeur D' Alenes ; among them being U. S. Judge
James H. Beatty, Judge Fremont Wood, ex-U. S. Mar
shal Joe Pinkham, T. A. Doud, and last but not least,
U. S. Senator W. B. Heyburn, all of whom had taken
part against the dynamiters after the first riots in 1892.
500 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Much of our time was spent in the office of Jas. H.
Hawley & Son, laying plans to outwit the Western Fed
eration attorneys so as to get Steve Adams to Wallace,
Idaho, without taking him through an outside state.
In order to reach Wallace in the Coeur D'Alenes by
rail, it is necessary to travel several hundred miles either
through Oregon and Washington or Montana, and in
passing through these states we felt confident that Clar
ence Darrow, the leading attorney for the Western Fed
eration, would get out habeas corpus papers to delay
matters.
Finally sheriff Angus Sutherland arrived from Sho-
shone County in the Coeur D'Alenes, with a warrant
for Steve Adams on a murder charge. After the court
had turned Adams over to the sheriff, the Western Fed
eration lawyers and their helpers had guards out all
night so that Adams couldn't be taken out of town with
out their knowing it. But here we played a "dirty Irish
trick" and got him headed north in a covered rig. He
was taken most of the way overland to avoid entering
other states. J. C. Mills, Jr., Deputy Warden, and Geo.
C. Huebner, chief clerk of the pen, helped to smuggle
Adams out into the cold night air.
Warden Whitney of the penitentiary, and state de
tective Gene Johnson accompanied the sheriff and his
prisoner across the rough mountains, hundreds of miles
north into the Panhandle of Idaho.
When Attorney Darrow and his associates found that
their bird had flown, they gave vent to a string of sul
phuric oaths which would have scorched the lips of
some people, so I was told. But they couldn't find out
which way their vulture had "flew'd."
WALLAI
The X marks the spot where the ^
J:DAHO.
S>r stood when the soldiers arrived.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 501
A few days later Mr. McCartney and I boarded a train
for Wallace, Idaho.
The Western Federation attorneys were in Wallace
when we arrived, but their client, Steve Adams with his
escorts, didn't arrive until a few days later.
Al. C. Watson and Chas H Burkhart, two of sheriff
Nesbit's deputies from Denver, Colo., were also in Wal
lace to take charge of Steve Adams for murders com
mitted in Colorado, in ease the court here should liberate
him.
Wallace seemed like home to me after my long ab
sence of about fourteen years. More especially after
viewing the high timbered mountain south of town
where Frank Stark and I made our home until the sol
diers arrived.
The town had built up and changed wonderfully.
Only a few old landmarks like the Carter Hotel re
mained.
Also the faces of long ago had' changed. Still, there
were a few of my old friends and enemies left. Among
the friends were : Judge W. W. Woods, Judge Mahew,
Mr. E. H. Moffit, a leading merchant, Mr. Al. Dunn,
postmaster, Mr. Jack Dunn of the Weekly Press and
Robt. Dunn of the U. S. Land office; also Chas. E.
Bender and Chas. White, leading merchants; M. J.
Flohr, cashier of the First National Bank, Dr. Hugh
France, Joseph Turner, lumberman and contractor, mer
chant J. W. Tabor and my good natured friend, Jerry
M. Savage, who formerly owned the Gem Hotel, where I
crawled through the window to escape dynamiters; and
last but not least, J. G. Boyd, the trusted general agent
502 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
of the N. P. Railroad in Wallace. It was he who turned
the switch and gave the train load of Joe Warren
"scabs" a clear track to Burk, while sheriff Cunningham
and several hundred union miners, myself included, were
eagerly waiting to capture the poor "scabs" and tear
them to pieces if they refused to return from whence
they had come.
Many of the old Miners' Union gang came from Burk
and Mullen to see the dastardly Dickenson detectives,
Jas. McCartney and Yours Truly. I recognized many
of them and a few looked daggers at me. It was voiced
around that they intended making a raid some night on
Mr. McCartney and me. From that time on I kept a
Winchester rifle and a supply of ammunition in my
room, which adjoined Mr. McCartney's.
During the nights, up to bedtime, two learned anar
chists who called themselves socialists, from Chicago,
made speeches to large crowds on the streets. In these
talks they would abuse the officers of the law and de
tectives in general. They would dare Mr. McCartney
to come out and dispute their assertions. Often I would
slip into the crowd and on the sly hear their harangue.
But with the law-abiding people now in control of Sho-
shone County and with such brave officers as sheriff
Angus Sutherland and his deputies: Thomas McCabe,
Harry Williams, C. C. Hicks, William Baily and Phil
Chandler, the latter being one of the "scabs" blown up
with the Independence depot in Cripple Creek, Colo., at
the helm, we felt reasonably safe.
After a two weeks' stay in Wallace our "bad" man
Steve Adams was bound over by the judge, J. H.
Boomer, to the District Court, without bail. Then there
503
was much gnashing of teeth by attorney Darrow and
his anarchist friends. I came very near writing it sociaU
ist friends, as that dynamiting "bunch" claim to be so
cialists, which ought to give a true, pure-hearted socialist
the jim-jams.
According to my views there are many good points in
socialism, which, if adopted, would make the world bet
ter; and for the men and women who strive for the
betterment of mankind, I have the highest regard.
The charge against Steve Adams was murder. He,
Jack Simkins, now a hunted outlaw, and some pals were
accused of murdering two men in cold blood at the head
of the St. Joe river in the Coeur D'Alenes.
The mother and stepfather of one of these murdered
men gave damaging testimony against Adams, and so
did Mr. Archie Phillips, whom the same Western Feder
ation gang tried to murder.
Mr. McCartney and I took the Coeur d'Alene lake
route by rail and steamer for Spokane, Wash. In that
city we laid over a couple of days and visited with our
friends.
A couple of days' stop in Boise, Idaho, and Mr. Mc
Cartney and I returned to Denver, Colo.
I hadn't more than reached home when I was de
tailed to help our Kansas City, Mo., office spring a trap
on some train holdups. The holdup was due to take
place at a small station called Sweetwater on the C. B. &
Q. railroad in Nebraska on a certain night. The railroad
officials had got a tip that their No. 41 western passen
ger train was to be robbed. Hence they wished to kill or
capture the gang while in the act.
Of course I took along my trusty old 30 — 40 caliber,
504 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
smokeless powder, Winchester rifle. I had been told that
the railroad company would furnish us sawed-off shot
guns for the fight ; but a Winchester rifle, and a Colts 45
pistol to "nigger" with, are good enough for Yours
Truly.
Of course I couldn't leave Kansas City without seeing
my old Caldwell, Kansas, friend, Frank Jones, the pro
prietor of the Jones liquor emporium, even though it
did mean a headache next day.
It was 3 :oo o'clock A. M. when I bade Mr. Jones and
his friends goodby, after drinking them the following
toast :
Here's to wine enough to sharpen wit;
Wit enough to give zest to wine;
And wisdom enough to quit at the right time.
Then I "hiked" to the depot and, hie, tumbled into my
Pullman berth.
Early in the day assistant superintendent W. H.
Hart, and Jno. A. Hermanson had supplied me with
ammunition and instructed me to leave in the morning
for Omaha, Nebraska; hence taking my half-grown
"jag" into the Pullman sleeper so as to avoid getting up
to catch the train.
In Omaha, Nebraska, Mr. W. B. Coughman, the super
intendent in charge of our office there, introduced me to
the operative who was_ to be my partner in guarding
train 41 from holdups. He happened to be a young man
after my own heart, whom I felt sure would stick to the
bitter end in case of a show-down.
This Mr. V. L. S. had been an officer under Ben. Wil
liams, special agent of the A. T. & S. F. Ry., also town
marshal of coal camps in northern New Mexico, and
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 505
during these periods he had to use his gun more than
once.
V. L. S. and I were sent to Lincoln, the capital of
Nebraska, there to make our headquarters for the next
few weeks.
Four other operatives were also sent to Lincoln to
guard other trains running out of that city for the west ;
this being done as a precaution for fear the holdups
might change their plans. But these operatives did their
work in the western part of the state, as their trains left
Lincoln in the day time.
For the first couple of weeks V. L. S. and I rode in the
smoking car and kept our eyes peeled for holdup men.
Our train No. 41 left Lincoln at i :2O A. M. and we would
remain aboard 'till after daylight, then get off at Broken
Bow, west of the small station of Sweetwater, where the
holdup was billed to come off. Then we would catch
the eastbound passenger about 9:00 A. M. and return to
Lincoln, so as to be ready to take 41 out again the fol
lowing night. This allowed us from four to six hours
sleep in our room at Lincoln, when the return train was
on time, which was seldom. Often we would not get to
bed at all.
On the night that "41" was to be held up, an empty
express car was coupled onto the train next to the en
gine, and in this, operative V. L. S. and I "sneaked," so
no one outside of the conductor knew of our presence.
When inside of this car we bolted the two side doors and
awaited results. The car was kept dark inside.
That night Supt. Williston of the Kansas City office
rode out of Lincoln to Broken Bow in the chair car, so
as to be on the ground if the holdup occurred.
506 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
About an hour and a half before daylight No. 41
stopped to let off a passenger in Sweetwater station. Op
erative V. L. S. was guarding the north door, while I
watched the south door. We each had our door open
about six inches so as to see outside.
Just as our train pulled out^ operative V. L. S. called
me over to his side to point out three men hiding in
some tall weeds about fifty yards from the track. We
saw one of them stand up and then sit down again, and
as soon as 'the train had got past them they all struck
out towards the south. They were evidently holdup
men who had smelled a "mice" on seeing this extra ex
press car attached to the train, which was something
unusual.
Operative V. L. S. and I had discussed the putting on
of this extra express car and had decided it to be a
mistake, as train robbers are not fools.
The railroad agent in Alliance reported selling a ticket
to Sweetwater station the day before the robbery was
to take place, and two on the day of the proposed hold
up. This being something out of the ordinary, it may ac
count for the three men seen in the weeds.
We rode in the express car the next night also, and
were then ordered to discontinue the operation. Of
course we were glad of it, as we had been losing sleep
and rest for more than two weeks, and a cold blizzard
had been raging most of the time.
Thus did another of my bloodless battles fade into thin
air.
I then returned to Denver after bidding my partner
goodby in Lincoln, he returning to Kansas City.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 507
Secret information gained pointed to my friend Bob
McGinnis, the train robber lately pardoned from the
Santa Fe, N. M., penitentiary, as being connected with
this proposed train holdup; also a railroad brakeman
who had served a two or three years' sentence in the
New Mexico "pen", and who had been a cell-mate of
the notorious Bob McGinnis, alias Elza Lay.
On arriving in Denver I was detailed on an operation
down in Old Mexico to run down a "bad" man who was
supposed to be traveling with Col. W. C. White, the
Cananea copper king, in his new private car, the Verde.
I arrived in El Paso, Texas, just in time to catch the
Verde as she entered Mexico at that point. She had
just come from Cananea, Mexico, through Arizona.
I rode on the same train with the Verde into the
City of Mexico. There Col. White and his dozen com
panions were wined and dined by Mr. Diaz, the presi
dent of the Mexican Republic, while poor Yours Truly
was wining and dining with Harry King, the negro chef
of the Verde.
On the i,2OO-mile journey to the Mexican capital from
El Paso, Texas, I had made the acquaintance of this
yellow New York "nigger" so as to get the names of
Col. White's guests, and other secrets.
In taking in the swell hurrah resorts of the city I had
to pass Harry King off as a rich Cuban. At one place
the landlady got me off in one corner to ask on my word
of honor if my chum was not a cottonfield "nigger." I
assured the "lady" that the gentleman who tipped the
scales at 240 pounds was a blue-blooded Cuban, whose
ancestors were of royal descent.
508 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
A few days in Mexico City and we were off for Chi
huahua, 600 miles north.
Before leaving the .city I had the pleasure of examin
ing the inside of the Verde, a palace on wheels. King
showed me every nook and corner in the car. I also got
to visit all the noted places of the city with the Greene
party. They rode in carriages while I followed in a
common hack.
In the city I found one old friend, Mr. J. W. Seibert,
now superintendent of the Wells Fargo Company there.
He was an assistant under Supt. Daniel Turner when I
followed the Wells Fargo express robber to Mexico
City in 1888. Now poor Turner is a patient in a sani
tarium in California, so says Mr. Seibert.
From Chihuahua the Verde went a couple of hundred
miles up into the Sierra Madre mountains, where Col.
White and his associates are building a new railroad
west, to connect with the Greene Cananea railway.
Up in these mountains I found a town named Detrick,
after my old friend one-arm Sam Detrick who ran a
"bull-train," freighting between Socorro and White
Olaks, New Mexico, in 1880, '81 and '82. Now he is said
to be quite wealthy. I thought it best not to make myself
known to him, as he stands in with the Green outfit, and
at that time I was not sure that our "bad" man was not
a guest of Colonel White's. One of the men in the
Verde answered the description of our "bad" man. I
had found out this gentleman's name as he had claimed
to be a wealthy capitalist from Waterbury, Conn. I
was waiting until Supt. David C. Hornybill of our New
York office could investigate the matter in Waterbury.
I had wired in cypher, the full particulars to New York.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 509
On arriving in El Paso, Texas, late one night I re
ceived a telegram from New York to the effect that
the suspect was not our "bad" man. I then bade the
Verde goodbye. She returned that morning to Cananea,
Mexico.
Our New York client had put us on to this false scent,
hence our failure was not the fault of the agency. Pos
sibly it was a put up job by kind Providence to give me
a little winter outing in the tropics after my late tussle
with blizzards in Nebraska.
While in El Paso, Texas, I had the pleasure of meet
ing my old friends, John Y. Hewett and Mr. E. W.
Parker of White Oaks, New Mexico. I had not seen
Mr. Parker for many years. He is now in the mining
business in El Paso with his son Morris Parker. I had
first met Mr. E. W. Parker in the spring of 1878, when
he and a crowd of Uncle Sam's men were putting
through the first mail line ever run over the staked
plains of Texas.
The Parker crowd had camped near the L X ranch
where there were about thirty cowboys getting ready
for the spring round-up. As Parker kept his business to
himself, we all suspected them as being Texas rangers in
disguise, searching for outlaws; the outcome being that
we only had half enough cowboys to start the round-up.
About a dozen of our "boys" mounted their pet horses
and struck out for "tall timber" in New Mexico and Ari
zona, where some of them helped to swell "Curly Bill's"
outlaw gang.
One of these "boys" who left for Arizona was known
to us as a "bad" Texas outlaw. He was supposed to be
510 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
dead, though. His wealthy uncle had built a fine monu
ment over his supposed grave down in the settlements;
this being done to throw the officer off the track. One
of his former chums, Cape Willingham, had told the
secret to me; hence I was not surprised when George
skipped by the light of the stars while Mr. Parker and
his crowd of supposed sleuth-hounds were asleep.
We heard of other cattle outfits being short of round
up hands that spring, on account of the presence of this
star-route mail-line gang.
I landed in Denver after an absence of about three
weeks.
A few days' rest and I was off with Manager Jas.
McCartney for Boise, Idaho.
In Boise we visited Harry Orchard in the penitentiary
and made other preparations for the coming trial of
the Western Federation officials.
The Supreme Court of the United States had just
rendered a decision that these dynamiters had not been
kidnapped by the Dickenson agency and the Idaho of
ficials out of Colorado where they were arrested; hence
there was nothing to prevent the case being brought
into court now, to determine if these high union of
ficials really had a hand in the murder of ex-Governor
Steunenburg.
Mr. McCartney was anxious to eat Christmas dinner
with his wife and little niece in Denver, therefore we
hurried back.
On our return we stopped a couple of days in Salt
Lake City, Utah. We got back to Denver on Christmas
eve. This ended my third trip into the northwest as Mr.
McCartney's bodyguard.
ORCHARD AND GUARDS.
Reading from left to right:
1. Pen Guard Ackley.
2. Harry Orchard.
3. R. Barthell.
4. Chas A. Siringo.
5. Bob Meldrum.
6. Warden Whitney.
CHAPTER XXn.
IN IDAHO WITH DYNAMITERS — A COWBOY OPERATION
IN THE BAD LANDS OF SOUTH DAKOTA — I RESIGN
FROM THE DlCKENSON AGENCY.
During the first half of 1907 I led an easy life, with
nothing to do but keep old Colts 45 well oiled for dyna
miters and assassins.
I had to accompany that greatest of all detectives, James
McCartney, who broke up the Molly McGuire gang —
hanging twenty-three and sending thirty-two to the peni
tentiary — wherever he went. But during these noted
trials McCartney would remain at his hotel, or visit with
friends, while I helped guard Harry Orchard, the star
witness for the prosecution. His life was too valuable
to take chances on his assassination.
Orchard made a splendid witness at the different trials
in Idaho. Thus did he make partial amends to society
for the twenty-six men he helped to murder.
In summing up the Orchard evidence the judge on
the bench, Fremont Wood, said he certainly told the
truth, as no man could tell the same story at different
times and not get mixed up in his statements; more so,
under the cross-questioning of such able lawyers as Dar-
row and Richardson. Furthermore most of Orchard's
testimony was corroborated by telegrams, letters and re
liable witnesses.
At the wind-up Albert E. Horsley, alias Harry Or-
511
512 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
chard, was convicted for the murder of ex-Governor
Steunenburg and sentenced to death. But shortly after,
the death sentence was changed to life imprisonment,
which was certainly just. In fact he should be put under
parole and given his liberty. I would willingly stake my
life that he has had a change of heart since that guiding
angel, Geo. A. Pettibone, of the Western Federation of
Miners, drilled him in the art of manufacturing bombs
and exploding them. For according to the evidence it
was this drill-master and his pupil who set the bomb for
Judge Gabbert, of Denver, and blew the poor stranger,
who picked up the pocketbook, into fragments. The
pupil placed the bomb and pocketbook while the in
structor looked on from a distance of two city blocks.
The State of Idaho, through her leading attorneys,
Senator W. E. Borah and James H. Hawley, secured
two "gun-men" to help guard Orchard when taken
from behind the penitentiary walls. Their names were
Bob Meldrum and R. Barthel; Meldrum being the man-
killing town marshal of Dixon, Wyoming, at the time
Jim F. of "Wild Bunch" fame, and I took in that burg.
When Mr. McCartney introduced us in Boise under
my own name it was comical to see Meldrum's surprise.
He remarked that he had met me as Harry Blevins, in
Dixon, Wyoming.
Since our meeting in Boise, Meldrum has added to his
record as a killer, by shooting a man in Telluride, Colo.
During the summer, in Boise, Idaho, I had a few
years added to my life through the meeting of that great
actress — Miss Ethel Barrymore.
This beautiful young actress was dying to see Harry
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 513
Orchard before returning East. But no one except court
officials and his guards were allowed to see him, by strict
orders from Governor Gooding.
Miss Barrymore had already pled with the governor,
so I was told, but his heart was like a chunk of chilled
steel. Then some one suggested that I might help her
out. Just one smile and a "good-fellow" hand shake,
and she had me kneeling at her feet, figuratively speak
ing. I informed her that my hands were tied without
the consent of Mr. McCartney but that if she would act
her part according to my instructions we could get his
consent. She agreed.
I had learned that all men, no matter how old, have a
weak spring in their make-up which can be snapped
asunder by fair women, if they only go at it right. Of
course I hated to put up a "job" on Mr. McCartney, but
who wouldn't to make a pretty girl happy.
Mr. Gifford Pinchot, Chief of the United States Forest
Service, was also anxious to see Orchard, therefore he
accompanied Miss Barrymore and me to Mr. McCart
ney's private reception room. Mr. S. S. McClure, of
the McClure Magazine, and the wife of the principal
owner of the Idaho Statesman, Mrs. Calvin Cobb, also
went along.
On introducing Miss Barrymore I started the ball to
rolling by telling Mr. McCartney that I had assured the
lady that he would not deny her request
The play started when the young actress moved her
chair close up to the gentleman, so that she could look
him in the face.
When the one-act drama was over we all started in a
33
514 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
carriage for the penitentiary. Mr. McCartney had given
me orders to let the lady see Orchard, but under no con
dition to let her speak to him That was sufficient, as
all I wanted was an entering wedge.
On reaching the penitentiary I had warden Whitney
bring Orchard from his steel cell to the warden's pri
vate office. Then I turned the natural born actress loose
in the room with this star dynamiter, and she talked
with him to her heart's content.
And I was repaid for all my trouble by having Miss
Barrymore 'phone me after midnight to be at her train
and say goodby. This I did, and her happy smile and
warm hand-shake lingers with me to this day — nearly
two years later.
During the Steve Adams trial in Wallace, Idaho,
which terminated in a hung jury — that being no surprise,
considering the large slush fund put up by the Western
Federation of Miners to save his neck — I had the pleas
ure of visiting Gem where I made my getaway by sawing
through the floor. Mr. McCartney's private secretary,
Robt. Shollenbeger, went with me on horseback.
We saw bullet holes through old walls as reminders
of those exciting times in 1892. I recognized many old
landmarks — but only one live one in the person of Dan
Harrington and his flowing grey beard.
On leaving Wallace and the Coeur D'Alene country
we stopped for a few days in Spokane, Wash. We were
accompanied by that whole-soul honest man, ex-sheriff
Harvey K. Brown of Baker City, Oregon. But the poor
fellow soon after met the same fate as ex-Governor
Steunenburg, and in the same manner, a bomb being
JAS. MCCARTNEY AND THE AUTHOR.
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 515
placed at his residence gate. Here is Brown's dying
statement, as copied from the Denver Post of October 2,
1907:
"BAKER CITY, OREGON, Oct. 2.
Harvey K. Brown, ex-sheriff of Baker county, died yesterday
afternoon as the result of the horrible wounds he received from
the explosion of a bomb at his front gate as he entered his home
Monday night. Shortly before noon he recovered consciousness
and his ante-mortem statement was taken by the district attorney.
It follows :
" 'I was on my way home from up town when I met a man in front
of a residence a block from my house, and spoke. The man made
no reply. This man was about five feet ten inches tall, his
weight about 165 pounds. He wore a brown suit and a cellu
loid collar and was clean shaven. I have been conscious of
having been followed for the past three weeks, and have no doubt
that those who attempted my life are persons connected with the
Western Federation of Miners, and that I was marked for death
on account of the Steunenburg and Steve Adams cases.' "
This illustrates the danger of being an important wit
ness against that blood-thirsty dynamiting bunch, who
some well-meaning people believe are angels.
Another prince of a good fellow blown up with dyna
mite, but not killed, soon after giving his testimony
against this "noble order" was Mr. Bulkley Wells, man
ager and part owner of a rich mine in Telluride, Colo.,
the former manager of this mine, Mr. Arthur Collins,
being shot and killed through a window by that villain,
Steve Adams, according to his own, and Orchard's,
sworn confession.
We have been expecting to hear of the assassination of
Governor Frank Goodin, as his life has been threatened
more than any one else, unless it is ex-Governor Jas. H.
Peabody of Colorado, who has escaped two attempts at
assassination.
All law-loving citizens should adore the names of
516 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
these two governors who did their duty in the face of
hourly danger. This dynamiting brigade had, no doubt,
figured that the blowing up of ex-Governor Steunen-
burg would put the fear of death in the hearts of other
officials who believed in law and order. But they didn't
reckon on that noble trait implanted in the breasts of
some men which defies death, and even torture, when it
comes to sacrificing principle and justice.
When the trial of Haywood, secretary and treasurer
of the Western Federation was ended, and Mr. McCart-
land and I were back in Denver, Colorado, I resigned
from the Dickenson Agency to try the "Simple Life" on
my Sunny Slope ranch at Santa Fe, New Mexico.
I had not been out of the agency long when I was re
quested, by Mr. James McCartney, to undertake a cow
boy operation up in the Bad Lands of South Dakota.
Members of the South Dakota Stock Growers' Associa
tion, Mr. James Craig being president, and Mr. Frank
Stewart secretary, were short thousands of steers and
could not figure out what had become of them. Hence
I was sent up there to unravel the mystery.
I spent the fall and winter in South Dakota working
on cattlemen, cowboys and Indians. Much of my work
being on the Pine Ridge and Rosebud Indian Reserva
tions.
My reports showed where thousands of steers had
been stolen and butchered, the year previous to my ar
rival, to furnish beef for the grading crews of the two
new railroads, the Milwaukee and St. Paul, and the
Northwestern, building west through that country.
Some of my cowboy chums, on whom I worked, had
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 517
become well fixed financially by butchering these cattle.
Most of the stealing was done through half-breed In
dians who lived on the reservations.
Much of my time was spent in Rapid City, Interior
Kadoka, Wasta and the White Owl country. My name
was Chas. Tony Lloyd. I experienced some hardships
from the terrible blizzards which rage in that country
during the winters. On closing the operation in the
White Owl Country I had to ride in a cold blizzard for
over one hundred miles, with snow belly-deep to a horse,
in places, to the railroad town of Wasta.
I was indeed glad to get back and bask in the warm
sunshine of New Mexico, and to be with my pets,
Eat 'Em Up Jake and Rowdy, my favorite saddle stal
lion, the off-spring of Lulu; also Miss Pussy-cat, who
has a history in connection with the "Wild Bunch ;" she
having been given to me when a wee kitten up in Ft.
Steel, Wyoming, by cowboy Charlie Ivey, who little
dreamed that this supposed Harry Blevins had once been
a cowboy companion of his, in the early-day cattle busi
ness of Texas.
Mr. Geo. S. Tweedy, who was in charge of my ranch,
had cared for my pets during my absence.
Now, dear reader, in closing my twenty-two years of
experience in studying human nature, let me say that
I have come to the conclusion that there is more good
than bad in mankind. I believe most of the viciousness
in man could be smothered by doing away with liquor
and greed for the almighty dollar. For through these
great evils I have seen bitter tears enough wrung from
the eyes of men, women and children to float a washtub.
518 A COWBOY DETECTIVE
Saloon men should not be condemned for the liquor
evil, for there are good, pure-hearted men among them.
They are conducting a lawful business so long as they
pay a license to the government. The people as a whole
are to blame for not putting a stop to it by law; and at
the same time establish poor men's club rooms to take
the place of saloons, which are a blessing to a cold an<l
hungry stranger when he lands in a town broke. Good
men sometimes run short of cash and cannot pay for
lodging in a warm hotel. Then is when the saloon is a
godsend.
Every greedy old "Money-bag" in the land should be
sat down on hard. I would be in favor of screwing his
hands to a long-handle shovel, or a heavy wheel-barrow,
for months at a time, to let him know how it feels to
work ten hours a day to keep body and soul together,
while such as he do nothing but gloat over gold, and
wring the life-blood from humanity.
It is a great pity that old Father Time and Mother
Nature cannot get married and start a new breed of
cattle, with cows giving a large flow of the milk of
human kindness. For then we would have something to
feed to greedy capitalists and blood-thirsty labor union
agitators.
Had I the power our glorious American flag would be
constantly waving over every school house in this fair
land. On one side would be printed in large letters of
gold:
Down with liquor, cruelty and greed ; up with manhood, kind
ness and virtue.
And on the other side:
A COWBOY DETECTIVE 519
Preservation of noble thoughts and deeds, for the upbuilding
of ideal man.
In bidding you adieu I ask if the world has been bene
fited by my having lived in it? I answer, yes. For have
[ not planted trees and grass on a sun-kissed desert at the
end of the old Santa Fe Trail — at the very spot where
once grazed the tired oxen and mules after their journey
across the plains ?
The bible says he who makes two blades of grass to
grow where only one grew before has benefited man
kind. And that hits Yours Truly.
THE END.
S6I .
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